GOLDEN 
SILENCE 

bjMZ.N  6  A.M 
WILLIAMSON 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 


BOOKS   BY 

C.  N.  AND  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 


THE  MOTOR  MAID 

LORD  LOVELAND  DISCOVERS  AMERICA 

SET  IN  SILVER 

THE  LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR 

THE  PRINCESS  PASSES 

MY  FRIEND  THE  CHAUFFEUR 

LADY  BETTY  ACROSS  THE  WATER 

ROSEMARY  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER 

THE  PRINCESS  VIRGINIA 

THE  CAR  OF  DESTINY 

THE  CHAPERON 


Allah  sends  ihee  a  man  —  a  strong  man,  whose  brain 
and  heart  and  arm  are  at  thy  service  ' 


m 


GOLDEN 
SILENCE 


C.N.  &->  A.M. 

AM  S  ON 


GEORGE  BREHM 


GARDEN    CITY,    NEW  VOKK 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1911 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,   INCLUDING  THAT  OF    TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,   INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,  igiO,  BY  C.  N.   *  A.  M.   WILLIAMSON 


TO 

Effendi 

HIS  BOOK 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 


STEPHEN  KNIGHT  was  very  angry,  though  he  meant 
to  be  kind  and  patient  with  Margot.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  she  had  not  given  the  interview  to  the  newspaper 
reporter.  It  might  be  what  she  herself  would  call  a 
"fake."  But  as  for  her  coming  to  stop  at  a  big,  fashionable 
hotel  like  the  Carlton,  in  the  circumstances  she  could  hardly 
have  done  anything  in  worse  taste. 

He  hated  to  think  that  she  was  capable  of  taking  so  false 
a  step.  He  hated  to  think  that  it  was  exactly  like  her  to  take 
it.  He  hated  to  be  obliged  to  call  on  her  in  the  hotel;  and  he 
hated  himself  for  hating  it. 

Knight  was  of  the  world  that  is  inclined  to  regard  servants 
as  automata;  but  he  was  absurdly  self-conscious  as  he  saw  his 
card  on  a  silver  tray,  in  the  hand  of  an  expressionless,  liveried 
youth  who  probably  had  the  famous  interview  in  his  pocket. 
If  not  there,  it  was  only  because  the  paper  would  not  fit  in.  The 
footman  had  certainly  read  the  interview,  and  followed  the 
" Northmorland  Case"  with  passionate  interest,  for  months, 
from  the  time  it  began  with  melodrama,  and  turned  violently 
to  tragedy,  up  to  the  present  moment  when  (as  the  journalists 
neatly  crammed  the  news  into  a  nutshell)  "it  bade  fair  to  end 
with  marriage-bells." 

Many  servants  and  small  tradespeople  in  London  had  taken 
shares,  Stephen  had  heard,  as  a  speculative  investment,  in 
the  scheme  originated  to  provide  capital  for  the  "other  side," 
which  was  to  return  a  hundred  per  cent,  in  case  of  success. 

3 


4  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Probably  the  expressionless  youth  was  inwardly  reviling  the 
Northmorland  family  because  he  had  lost  his  money  and  would 
be  obliged  to  carry  silver  trays  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  instead  of 
starting  a  green  grocery  business.  Stephen  hoped  that  his 
own  face  was  as  expressionless,  as  he  waited  to  receive  the 
unwelcome  message  that  Miss  Lorenzi  was  at  home. 

It  came  very  quickly,  and  in  a  worse  form  than  Stephen 
had  expected.  Miss  Lorenzi  was  in  the  Palm  Court,  and  would 
Mr.  Knight  please  come  to  her  there? 

Of  course  he  had  to  obey;  but  it  was  harder  than  ever  to 
remain  expressionless. 

There  were  a  good  many  people  in  the  Palm  Court,  and  they 
all  looked  at  Stephen  Knight  as  he  threaded  his  intricate  way 
among  chairs  and  little  tables  and  palms,  toward  a  corner 
where  a  young  woman  in  black  crape  sat  on  a  pink  sofa.  Her  hat 
was  very  large,  and  a  palm  with  enormous  fan-leaves  drooped 
above  it  like  a  sympathetic  weeping  willow  on  a  mourning 
brooch.  But  under  the  hat  was  a  splendidly  beautiful  dark  face. 

"Looks  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  be  shot,"  a  man  who 
knew  all  about  the  great  case  said  to  a  woman  who  had  lunched 
with  him. 

"Looks  more  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  shoot,"  she  laughed, 
as  one  does  laugh  at  other  people's  troubles,  which  are  apt 
to  be  ridiculous.  "He's  simply  glaring." 

"Poor  beggar!"  Her  companion  found  pleasure  in  pitying 
Lord  Northmorland's  brother,  whom  he  had  never  succeeded 
in  getting  to  know.  "Which  is  he,  fool  or  hero?" 

"Both.  A  fool  to  have  proposed  to  the  girl.  A  hero  to  stick 
to  her,  now  he  has  proposed.  He  must  be  awfully  sick  about 
the  interview.  I  do  think  it's  excuse  enough  to  throw  her  over." 

"I  don't  know.  It's  the  sort  of  business  a  man  can't  very 
well  chuck,  once  he's  let  himself  in  for  it.  Every  one  blames 
him  now  for  having  anything  to  do  with  Miss  Lorenzi.  They'd 
blame  him  a  lot  more  for  throwing  her  over." 

"Women  wouldn't." 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  5 

"No.  Because  he  happens  to  be  young  and  good-looking. 
But  all  his  popularity  won't  make  the  women  who  like  him 
receive  his  wife.  She  isn't  a  woman's  woman." 

"I  should  think  not,  indeed!  We're  too  clever  to  be  taken 
in  by  that  sort,  all  eyes  and  melodrama.  They  say  Lord 
Northmorland  warned  his  brother  against  her,  and  prophesied 
she'd  get  hold  of  him,  if  he  didn't  let  her  alone.  The  Duchess 
of  Amidon  told  Lady  Peggy  Lynch  —  whom  I  know  a  little  — 
that  immediately  after  Lorenzi  committed  suicide,  this  Margot 
girl  wrote  to  Stephen  Knight  and  implored  him  to  help  her. 
I  can  quite  believe  she  would.  Fancy  the  daughter  of  the 
unsuccessful  claimant  to  his  brother's  title  writing  begging 
letters  to  a  young  man  like  Stephen  Knight!  It  appeals  to 
one's  sense  of  humour." 

"What  a  pity  Knight  didn't  see  it  in  that  light  —  what?" 

"Yet  he  has  a  sense  of  humour,  I  believe.  It's  supposed 
to  be  one  of  his  charms.  But  the  sense  of  humour  often  fails 
where  one's  own  affairs  are  concerned.  You  know  he's  cele- 
brated for  his  quaint  ideas  about  life.  They  say  he  has  social- 
istic views,  or  something  rather  like  them.  His  brother  and 
he  are  as  different  from  one  another  as  light  is  from  darkness. 
Stephen  gives  away  a  lot  of  money,  and  Lady  Peggy  says  that 
nobody  ever  asks  him  for  anything  in  vain.  He  can't  stand  see- 
ing people  unhappy,  if  he  can  do  anything  to  help.  Probably, 
after  he'd  been  kind  to  the  Lorenzi  girl,  against  his  brother's 
advice,  and  gone  to  see  her  a  few  times,  she  grovelled  at  his 
feet  and  told  him  she  was  all  alone  in  the  world,  and  would 
die  if  he  didn't  love  her.  He's  just  young  enough  and  romantic 
enough  to  be  caught  in  that  way!" 

"He's  no  boy.     He  must  be  nearly  thirty." 

"All  nice,  normal  men  are  boys  until  after  thirty.  Lady 
Peggy's  new  name  for  this  poor  child  is  the  Martyr  Knight." 

"St.  Stephen  the  Second  is  the  last  thing  I  heard.  Stephen 
the  First  was  a  martyr  too,  wasn't  he?  Stoned  to  death  or 
something." 


6  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"I  believe  so,"  hastily  returned  the  lady,  who  was  not  learned 
in  martyrology.  "He  will  be  stoned,  too,  if  he  tries  to  force 
Miss  Lorenzi  on  his  family,  or  even  on  his  friends.  He'll  find 
that  he'll  have  to  take  her  abroad." 

"That  might  be  a  good  working  plan.  Foreigners  wouldn't 
shudder  at  her  accent.  And  she's  certainly  one  of  the  most 
gorgeously  beautiful  creatures  I  ever  saw." 

"Yes,  that's  just  the  right  expression.  Gorgeous.  And  — 
a  creature." 

They  both  laughed,  and  fell  to  talking  again  of  the  inter- 
view. 

Stephen  Knight's  ears  were  burning.  He  could  not  hear 
any  of  the  things  people  were  saying;  but  he  had  a  lively  im- 
agination, and,  always  sensitive,  he  had  grown  morbidly  so  since 
the  beginning  of  the  Northmorland-Lorenzi  case,  when  all 
the  failings  and  eccentricities  of  the  family  had  been  reviewed 
before  the  public  eye,  like  a  succession  of  cinematograph  pic- 
tures. It  did  not  occur  to  Stephen  that  he  was  an  object  of 
pity,  but  he  felt  that  through  his  own  folly  and  that  of  another, 
he  had  become  a  kind  of  scarecrow,  a  figure  of  fun:  and  be- 
cause until  now  the  world  had  laughed  with  instead  of  at  him, 
he  would  rather  have  faced  a  shower  of  bullets  than  a  ripple 
of  ridicule. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  inquired  stiffly,  and  shook  Miss 
Lorenzi's  hand  as  she  gave  it  without  rising  from  the  pink 
sofa.  She  gazed  up  at  him  with  immense,  yellowish  brown 
eyes,  then  fluttered  her  long  black  lashes  in  a  way  she  had, 
which  was  thrilling  —  the  first  time  you  saw  it.  But  Stephen 
had  seen  it  often. 

"I  am  glad  you've  come,  my  White  Knight!"  she  said  in 
her  contralto  voice,  which  would  have  been  charming  but  for 
a  crude  accent.  "I  was  so  afraid  you  were  cross." 

"I'm  not  cross,  only  extremely  ang  —  vexed  if  you  really 
did  talk  to  that  journalist  fellow,"  Stephen  answered,  trying 
not  to  speak  sharply,  and  keeping  his  tone  low.  "Only,  for 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  7 

Heaven's  sake,  Margot,  don't  call  me  —  what  you  did  call  me 
—  anywhere,  but  especially  here,  where  we  might  as  well  be 
on  the  stage  of  a  theatre." 

"Nobody  can  hear  us,"  she  defended  herself.  "You  ought 
to  like  that  dear  little  name  I  made  up  because  you  came  to 
my  rescue,  and  saved  me  from  following  my  father  —  came 
into  my  life  as  if  you'd  been  a  modern  St.  George.  Calling 
you  my  '  White  Knight '  shows  you  how  I  feel  —  how  I  appre- 
ciate you  and  everything.  If  you  just  would  realize  that,  you 
couldn't  scold  me." 

"I'm  not  scolding  you,"  he  said  desperately.  "But  couldn't 
you  have  stopped  in  your  sitting-room  —  I  suppose  you  have 
one  —  and  let  me  see  you  there  ?  It's  loathsome  making  a 
show  of  ourselves " 

"I  haven't  a  private  sitting-room.  It  would  have  been  too 
extravagant,"  returned  Miss  Lorenzi.  "Please  sit  down  — 
by  me." 

Stephen  sat  down,  biting  his  lip.  He  must  not  begin  to 
lecture  her,  or  even  to  ask  why  she  had  exchanged  her  quiet 
lodgings  for  the  Carl  ton  Hotel,  because  if  he  once  began,  he 
knew  that  he  would  be  carried  on  to  unsafe  depths.  Besides,  he 
was  foolish  enough  to  hate  hurting  a  woman's  feelings,  even 
when  she  most  deserved  to  have  them  hurt. 

"Very  well.  It  can't  be  helped  now.  Let  us  talk,"  said 
Stephen.  "The  first  thing  is,  what  to  do  with  this  newspaper 
chap,  if  you  didn't  give  him  the  interview  — 

"Oh,  I  did  give  it  —  in  a  way,"  she  admitted,  looking  rather 
frightened,  and  very  beautiful.  "You  mustn't  do  anything 
to  him.  But  —  of  course  it  was  only  because  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  tell  him  the  truth.  Surely  it  was  ?  " 

"Surely  it  wasn't.     You  oughtn't  to  have  received  him." 

"Then  do  you  mind  so  dreadfully  having  people  know  you've 
asked  me  to  marry  you,  and  that  I've  said  'yes'  ?" 

Margot  Lorenzi 's  expression  of  pathetic  reproach  was 
as  effective  as  her  eyelash  play,  when  seen  for  the  first 


8  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

time,  as  Stephen  knew  to  his  sorrow.  But  he  had  seen  the 
one  as  often  as  the  other. 

"You  must  know  I  didn't  mean  anything  of  the  sort. 
Oh,  Margot,  if  you  don't  understand,  I'm  afraid  you're  hope- 
less." 

"If  you  speak  like  that  to  me,  I  shall  simply  end  everything 
as  my  father  did,"  murmured  the  young  woman,  in  a  stifled, 
breaking  voice.  But  her  eyes  were  blazing. 

It  almost  burst  from  Stephen  to  order  her  not  to  threaten 
him  again,  to  tell  her  that  he  was  sick  of  melodrama,  sick  to 
the  soul;  but  he  kept  silence.  She  was  a  passionate  woman, 
and  perhaps  in  a  moment  of  madness  she  might  carry  out  her 
threat.  He  had  done  a  great  deal  to  save  her  life  —  or,  as  he 
thought,  to  save  it.  After  going  so  far  he  must  not  fail  now 
in  forbearance.  And  worse  than  having  to  live  with  beautiful, 
dramatic  Margot,  would  it  be  to  live  without  her  if  she  killed 
herself  because  of  him. 

"Forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,"  he  said  when 
he  could  control  his  voice. 

She  smiled.  "No,  of  course  you  didn't.  It  was  stupid 
of  me  to  fly  out.  I  ought  to  know  that  you're  always  good. 
But  I  don't  see  what  harm  the  interview  could  do  you,  or  me, 
or  any  one.  It  lets  all  the  world  know  how  gloriously  you've 
made  up  to  me  for  the  loss  of  the  case,  and  the  loss  of  my  father; 
and  how  you  came  into  my  life  just  in  time  to  save  me  from 
killing  myself,  because  I  was  utterly  alone,  defeated,  without 
money  or  hope." 

She  spoke  with  the  curiously  thrilling  emphasis  she  knew 
how  to  give  her  words  sometimes,  and  Stephen  could  not  help 
thinking  she  did  credit  to  her  training.  She  had  been  pre- 
paring for  the  stage  in  Canada,  the  country  of  the  Lorenzis' 
adoption,  before  her  father  brought  her  to  England,  whither  he 
came  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  to  contest  Lord  North- 
morland's  rights  to  the  title. 

"The  world  knew  too  much  about  our  affairs  already," 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  9 

Stephen  said  aloud.  "And  when  you  wished  our  engagement 
to  be  announced  in  The  Morning  Post,  I  had  it  put  in  at  once. 
Wasn't  that  enough?" 

"Every  one  in  the  world  doesn't  read  The  Morning  Post. 
But  I  should  think  every  one  in  the  world  has  read  that  inter- 
view, or  will  soon,"  retorted  Margot.  "It  appeared  only 
yesterday  morning,  and  was  copied  in  all  the  evening  papers; 
in  this  morning's  ones  too;  and  they  say  it's  been  cabled  word 
for  word  to  the  big  Canadian  and  American  dailies." 

Stephen  had  his  gloves  in  his  hand,  and  he  tore  a  slit  across 
the  palm  of  one,  without  knowing  it.  But  Margot  saw.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  heading  in  big  black  print  at  the  top  of  the 
interview:  "Romantic  Climax  to  the  Northmorland-Lorenzi 
Case.  Only  Brother  of  Lord  Northmorland  to  Marry  the 
Daughter  of  Dead  Canadian  Claimant.  Wedding  Bells  Re- 
lieve Note  of  Tragedy." 

"We've  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  —  everything  to  be  proud 
of,"  Miss  Lorenzi  went  on.  "You,  of  your  own  noble  be- 
haviour to  me,  which,  as  I  said  to  the  reporter,  must  be  making 
my  poor  father  happy  in  another  world.  Me,  because  I  have 
won  You,  far  more  than  because  some  day  I  shall  have  gained 
all  that  father  failed  to  win  for  me  and  himself.  His  heart  was 
broken,  and  he  took  his  own  life.  My  heart  would  have  been 
broken  too,  and  but  for  you  I 

"Don't,  please,"  Stephen  broke  in.  "We  won't  talk  any 
more  about  the  interview.  I'd  like  to  forget  it.  I  should 
have  called  here  yesterday,  as  I  wired  in  answer  to  your  tele- 
gram saying  you  were  at  the  Carlton,  but  being  at  my  brother's 
place  in  Cumberland,  I  couldn't  get  back  till " 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  Margot  cut  in.  Then  she  laughed  a 
sly  little  laugh.  "I  think  I  understand  too  why  you  went  to 
Cumberland.  Now  tell  me.  Confession's  good  for  the  soul. 
Didn't  your  brother  wire  for  you  the  minute  he  saw  that  an- 
nouncement in  The  Morning  Post,  day  before  yesterday?" 

"He  did  wire.     Or  rather  the  Duchess  did,  asking  me  to 


10  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

go  at  once  to  Cumberland,  on  important  business.  I  found 
your  telegram,  forwarded  from  my  flat,  when  I  got  to  North- 
morland  Hall.  If  I'd  known  you  were  moving,  I  wouldn't 
have  gone  till  to-day." 

"You  mean,  dear,  you  wouldn't  have  let  me  move?  Now, 
do  you  think  there's  any  harm  in  a  girl  of  my  age  being  alone 
in  a  hotel?  If  you  do,  it's  dreadfully  old-fashioned  of  you. 
I'm  twenty-four." 

During  the  progress  of  the  case,  it  had  been  mentioned  in 
court  that  the  claimant's  daughter  was  twenty-nine  (exactly 
Stephen  Knight's  age);  but  Margot  ignored  this  unfortunate 
slip,  and  hoped  that  Stephen  and  others  had  forgotten. 

"No  actual  harm.  But  in  the  circumstances,  why  be  con- 
spicuous? yVeren't  you  comfortable  with  Mrs.  Middleton? 
She  seemed  a  miraculously  nice  old  body  for  a  lodging-house 
keeper,  and  fussed  over  you  no  end  — 

"It  was  for  your  sake  that  I  wanted  to  be  in  a  good  hotel,  now 
our  engagement  has  been  announced,"  explained  Miss  Lorenzi. 
"I  didn't  think  it  suitable  for  the  Honourable  Stephen  Knight's 
future  wife  to  go  on  living  in  stuffy  lodgings.  And  as  you've 
insisted  on  my  accepting  an  income  of  eighty  pounds  a  month 
till  we're  married,  I'm  able  to  afford  a  little  luxury,  dearest. 
I  can  tell  you  it's  a  pleasure,  after  all  I've  suffered!  — and  I 
felt  I  owed  you  something  in  return  for  your  generosity.  I 
wanted  your  -fiancee  to  do  you  credit  in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

Stephen  bit  his  lip.     "I  see,"  he  said  slowly. 

Yet  what  he  saw  most  clearly  was  a  very  different  picture. 
Margot  as  she  had  seemed  the  day  he  met  her  first,  in  the  de- 
spised South  Kensington  lodgings,  whither  he  had  been  implored 
to  come  in  haste,  if  he  wished  to  save  a  wretched,  starving  girl 
from  following  her  father  out  of  a  cruel  world.  Of  course,  he 
had  seen  her  in  court,  and  had  reluctantly  encountered  her 
photograph  several  times  before  he  had  given  up  looking  at 
illustrated  papers  for  fear  of  what  he  might  find  in  them.  But 
Margot' s  tragic  beauty,  as  presented  by  photographers,  or  as 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  11 

seen  from  a  distance,  loyally  seated  at  the  claimant's  side, 
was  as  nothing  to  the  dark  splendour  of  her  despair  when  the 
claimant  was  in  his  new-made  grave.  It  was  the  day  after  the 
burial  that  she  had  sent  for  Stephen;  and  her  letter  had  arrived, 
as  it  happened,  when  he  was  thinking  of  the  girl,  wondering 
whether  she  had  friends  who  would  stand  by  her,  or  whether 
a  member  of  his  family  might,  without  being  guilty  of  bad 
taste,  dare  offer  help. 

Her  tear-blotted  letter  had  settled  that  doubt,  and  it  had 
been  so  despairing,  so  suggestive  of  frenzy  in  its  wording, 
that  Stephen  had  impulsively  rushed  off  to  South  Kensington 
at  once,  without  stopping  to  think  whether  it  would  not  be 
better  to  send  a  representative  combining  the  gentleness  of  the 
dove  with  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  and  armed  for  emer- 
gencies with  a  blank  cheque. 

Margot's  hair,  so  charmingly  dressed  now,  folding  in  soft 
dark  waves  on  either  side  her  face,  almost  hiding  the  pink- 
tipped  ears,  had  been  tumbled,  that  gloomy  afternoon  six 
weeks  ago,  with  curls  escaping  here  and  there;  and  in  the 
course  of  their  talk  a  great  coil  had  fallen  down  over  her  shoul- 
ders. It  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  happens  to  the  heroine 
of  a  melodrama,  if  she  has  plenty  of  hair;  but  Stephen  did  not 
think  of  that  then.  He  thought  of  nothing  except  his  sympathy 
for  a  beautiful  girl  brought,  through  no  fault  of  her  own,  to  the 
verge  of  starvation  and  despair,  and  of  how  he  could  best  set 
about  helping  her. 

She  had  not  even  money  enough  to  buy  mourning.  Lorenzi 
had  left  debts  which  she  could  not  pay.  She  had  no  friends. 
She  did  not  know  what  was  to  become  of  her.  She  had  not 
slept  for  many  nights.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  die  as 
her  father  had  died,  because  it  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do, 
when  suddenly  the  thought  of  Stephen  had  flashed  into  her 
mind,  as  if  sent  there  by  her  guardian  angel.  She  had  heard 
that  he  was  good  and  charitable  to  everybody,  and  once  she 
had  seen  him  looking  at  her  kindly,  in  court,  as  if  he  were  sorrr 


12  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

for  her,  and  could  read  something  of  what  was  in  her  heart. 
She  had  imagined  it  perhaps.  But  would  he  forgive  her  for 
writing  to  him  ?  Would  he  help  her,  and  save  her  life  ? 

Any  one  who  knew  Stephen  could  have  prophesied  what  his 
answer  would  be.  He  had  hated  it  when  she  snatched  his  hand 
to  kiss  at  the  end  of  their  interview;  but  he  would  scarcely 
have  been  a  human  young  man  if  he  had  not  felt  a  sudden  tingle 
of  the  blood  at  the  touch  of  such  lips  as  Margot  Lorenzi's. 
Never  had  she  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him  since  that  first  day; 
but  he  had  called  again  and  again,  against  his  brother's  urgent 
advice  (when  he  had  confessed  the  first  visit) ;  and  the  story 
that  the  Duchess  of  Amidon  was  telling  her  friends,  though 
founded  entirely  on  her  own  imagination  of  the  scene  which  had 
brought  about  Stephen's  undoing,  was  not  very  far  from  the  truth. 

Now,  he  saw  a  picture  of  Margot  as  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
lodgings  she  hated;  and  he  wished  to  heaven  that  he  might 
think  of  her  as  he  had  thought  of  her  then. 

"I've  got  something  important  to  say  to  you,"  the  girl  went  on, 
when  she  realized  that  Stephen  intended  to  dismiss  the  subject 
of  the  hotel,  as  he  had  dismissed  the  subject  of  the  interview. 
"That's  the  reason  I  wired.  But  I  won't  speak  a  word  till 
you've  told  me  what  your  brother  and  the  Duchess  of  Amidon 
think  about  you  and  me." 

"There's  nothing  to  tell,"  Stephen  answered  almost  sullenly. 
And  indeed  there  was  no  news  of  his  Cumberland  visit  which  it 
would  be  pleasant  or  wise  to  retail. 

Margot  Lorenzi's  complexion  was  not  one  of  her  greatest 
beauties.  It  was  slightly  sallow,  so  she  made  artistic  use  of 
a  white  cosmetic,  which  gave  her  skin  the  clearness  of  a  camellia 
petal.  But  she  had  been  putting  on  rather  more  than  usual 
since  her  father's  death,  because1  it  was  suitable  as  well  as 
.becoming  to  be  pale  when  one  was  in  deep  mourning.  Con- 
sequently Margot  could  not  turn  perceptibly  whiter,  but  she 
felt  the  blood  go  ebbing  away  from  her  face  back  upon 
her  heart. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  13 

"Stephen!  Don't  they  mean  to  receive  me,  when  we're 
married?"  she  stammered. 

"I  don't  think  they've  much  use  for  either  of  us,"  Stephen 
hedged,  to  save  her  feelings.  "Northmorland  and  I  have  never 
been  great  pals,  you  know.  He's  twenty  years  older  than  I 
am;  and  since  he  married  the  Duchess  of  Amidon  — 

"And  her  money!  Oh,  it's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush. 
I  hate  them  both.  Lord  Northmorland  has  a  fiendish,  vin- 
dictive nature." 

"Come,  you  mustn't  say  that,  Margot.  He  has  nothing  of 
the  sort.  He's  a  curious  mixture.  A  man  of  the  world,  and 
a  bit  of  a  Puritan " 

"So  are  you  a  Puritan,  at  heart,"  she  broke  in. 

Stephen  laughed.  "No  one  ever  accused  me  of  Puritanism 
before." 

"Maybe  you've  never  shown  any  one  else  that  side  of  you, 
as  you  show  it  to  me.  You're  always  being  shocked  at  what  I 
do  and  say." 

For  that,  it  was  hardly  necessary  to  be  a  Puritan.  But 
Stephen  shrugged  his  shoulders  instead  of  answering. 

"Your  brother  is  a  cold-hearted  tyrant,  and  his  wife  is  a 
snob.  If  she  weren't,  she  wouldn't  hang  on  to  her  duchess- 
hood  after  marrying  again.  It  would  be  good  enough  for  me  to 
call  myself  Lady  Northmorland,  and  I  hope  I  shall  some  day." 

Stephen's  sensitive  nostrils  quivered.  He  understood  in 
that  moment  how  a  man  might  actually  wish  to  strike  a  nagging 
virago  of  a  woman,  no  matter  how  beautiful.  And  he  wondered 
with  a  sickening  heaviness  of  heart  how  he  was  to  go  on 
with  the  wretched  business  of  his  engagement.  But  he  pushed 
the  question  out  of  his  mind,  fiercely.  He  was  in  for  this 
thing  now.  He  must  go  on. 

"Let  all  that  alone,  won't  you  ?"  he  said,  in  a  well-controlled 
tone. 

"I  can't,"  Margot  exclaimed.  "I  hate  your  brother.  He 
killed  my  father." 


14  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Because  he  defended  the  honour  of  our  grandfather,  and 
upheld  his  own  rights,  when  Mr.  Lorenzi  came  to  England  to 
dispute  them?" 

"  Who  knows  if  they  were  his  rights,  or  my  father's  ?  My 
father  believed  they  were  his,  or  he  wouldn't  have  crossed  the 
ocean  and  spent  all  his  money  in  the  hope  of  stepping  into 
your  brother's  shoes." 

There  were  those  —  and  Lord  Northmorland  and  the 
Duchess  of  Amidon  were  among  them  —  who  did  not  admit 
that  Lorenzi  had  believed  in  his  "rights."  And  as  for  the  money 
he  had  spent  in  trying  to  establish  a  legal  claim  to  the  North- 
morland title  and  estates,  it  had  not  been  his  own,  but  lent  him 
by  people  he  had  hypnotized  with  his  plausible  eloquence. 

"That  question  was  decided  in  court " 

"  It  would  be  harder  for  a  foreigner  to  get  an  English  noble- 
man's title  away  than  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of 
the  tiniest  needle  in  the  world.  But  never  mind.  All  that's 
buried  in  his  grave,  and  you're  giving  me  everything  father 
wanted  me  to  have.  I  wish  I  could  keep  my  horrid  temper 
better  in  hand,  and  I'd  never  make  you  look  so  cross.  But  I 
inherited  my  emotional  nature  from  Margherita  Lorenzi,  I 
suppose.  What  can  you  expect  of  a  girl  who  had  an  Italian 
prima  donna  for  a  grandmother?  And  I  oughtn't  to  quarrel 
with  the  fair  Margherita  for  leaving  me  her  temper,  since  she 
left  me  her  face  too,  and  I'm  fairly  well  satisfied  with  that. 
Everybody  says  I'm  the  image  of  my  grandmother.  And  you 
ought  to  know,  after  seeing  her  picture  in  dozens  of  illustrated 
papers,  as  well  as  in  that  pamphlet  poor  father  published." 

"If  you  want  me  to  tell  you  that  you  are  one  of  the  hand- 
somest women  who  ever  lived,  I'll  do  so  at  once,"  said  Stephen. 

Margot  smiled.     "You  really  mean  it?" 

"There  couldn't  be  two  opinions  on  that  subject." 

"Then,  if  you  think  I'm  so  beautiful,  don't  let  your  brother 
and  his  snobbish  Duchess  spoil  my  life." 

"They  can't  spoil  it" 


15 

"Yes,  they  can.  They  can  keep  me  from  being  a  success 
in  their  set,  your  set  —  the  only  set." 

"Perhaps  they  can  do  that.  But  England  isn't  the  only 
country,  anyhow.  I've  been  thinking  that  when  —  by  and 
by  —  we  might  take  a  long  trip  round  the  world ' 

"Hang  the  world!  England's  my  world.  I've  always 
looked  forward  to  England,  ever  since  I  was  a  little  thing, 
before  mamma  died,  and  I  used  to  hear  father  repeating  the 
romantic  family  story  —  how,  if  he  could  only  find  his  mother's 
letters  that  she'd  tried  to  tell  him  about  when  she  was  dying, 
perhaps  he  might  make  a  legal  claim  to  a  title  and  a  fortune. 
He  used  to  turn  to  me  and  say:  'Maybe  you'll  be  a  great  lady 
when  you  grow  up,  Margot,  and  I  shall  be  an  English  vis- 
count.' Then,  when  he  did  find  the  letters,  behind  the  secret 
partition  in  grandmother's  big  old-fashioned  sandal-wood  fan- 
box,  of  which  you've  heard  so  much " 

"Too  much,  please,  Margot." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  But  anyway,  you  see  why  I  want  to 
live  in  England.  My  life  and  soul  are  bound  up  in  my  success 
here.  And  I  could  have  a  success.  You  know  I  could.  I 
am  beautiful.  I  haven't  seen  any  woman  whose  face  I'd  change 
for  mine.  I  won't  be  cheated  out  of  my  happiness " 

"Very  well,  we'll  live  in  England,  then.  That's  settled," 
said  Stephen,  hastily.  "And  you  shall  have  all  the  success, 
all  the  happiness,  that  I  can  possibly  give  you.  But  we  shall 
have  to  get  on  without  any  help  from  my  brother  and  sister-in- 
law,  and  perhaps  without  a  good  many  other  people  you  might 
like  to  have  for  friends.  It  may  seem  hard,  but  you  must  make 
up  your  mind  to  it,  Margot.  Luckily,  there'll  be  enough  money 
to  do  pleasant  things  with;  and  people  don't  matter  so  im- 
mensely, once  you've  got  used  to " 

"They  do,  they  do !    The  right  people.     I  shall  know  them." 

"You  must  have  patience.  Everybody  is  rather  tired  of 
our  names  just  now.  Things  may  change  some  day.  I'm 
ready  to  begin  the  experiment  whenever  you  are." 


16  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"You  are  a  dear,"  said  Margot.  And  Stephen  did  not 
even  shiver.  "That  brings  me  to  what  I  had  to  tell  you. 
It's  this :  after  all,  we  can't  be  married  quite  as  soon  as  we 
expected." 

"Can't  we?"  he  echoed  the  words  blankly.  Was  this  to 
be  a  reprieve  ?  But  he  was  not  sure  that  he  wanted  a  reprieve. 
He  thought,  the  sooner  the  plunge  was  made,  the  better,  may- 
be. Looking  forward  to  it  had  become  almost  unbearable. 

"No,  I  must  run  over  to  Canada  first,  Stephen.  I've 
just  begun  to  see  that.  You  might  say,  I  could  go  there  with 
you  after  we  were  married,  but  it  wouldn't  be  the  same  thing 
at  all.  I  ought  to  stay  with  some  of  my  old  friends  while  I'm 
still  Margot  Lorenzi.  A  lot  of  people  were  awfully  good  to 
father,  and  I  must  show  my  gratitude.  The  sooner  I  sail  the 
better,  now  the  news  of  our  engagement  has  got  ahead  of  me. 
I  needn't  stop  away  very  long.  Seven  or  eight  weeks  —  or 
nine  at  most,  going  and  coming." 

"Would  you  like  to  be  married  in  Canada?"  Stephen  asked; 
perhaps  partly  to  please  her,  but  probably  more  to  disguise 
the  fact  that  he  had  no  impatient  objections  to  raise  against 
her  plan.  "If  you  wished,  I  could  go  whenever  — 

"Oh  no,  no!"  she  exclaimed  quickly.  "I  wouldn't  hav*1 
you  come  there  for  anything  in  the  world .  That  is,  I  mean  — 
she  corrected  herself  with  an  anxious,  almost  frightened  side 
glance  at  him  —  "I  must  fight  it  out  alone.  No,  I  don't 
mean  that  either.  What  a  stupid  way  of  putting  it!  But  it 
would  bore  you  dreadfully  to  take  such  a  journey,  and  it  would 
be  nicer  anyhow  to  be  married  in  England  —  perhaps  at  St. 
George's.  That  used  to  be  my  dream,  when  I  was  a  romantic 
little  girl,  and  loved  to  stuff  my  head  full  of  English  novels.  I 
should  adore  a  wedding  at  St.  George's.  And  oh,  Stephen, 
you  won't  change  your  mind  while  I'm  gone  ?  It  would  kill 
me  if  you  jilted  me  after  all.  I  shouldn't  live  a  single  day,  if 
you  weren't  true." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  my  dear  girl.     Of  course  I'm  not 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  17 

going  to  change  my  mind,"  said  Stephen.  "When  do  you 
want  to  sail?" 

"The  end  of  this  week.  You're  sure  you  won't  let  your 
brother  and  that  cruel  Duchess  talk  you  over  ?  I 

"There's  not  the  slightest  chance  of  their  talking  to  me  at 
all,"  Stephen  answered  sharply.  "We've  definitely  quar- 
relled." 


II 


WHEN  he  had  dutifully  seen  Miss  Lorenzi  off  at  the 
ship,  leaving  her  with  as  many  flowers,  novels,  and 
sweets  as  even  she  could  wish,  Stephen  expected  to 
feel  a  sense  of  relief.      But  somehow,  in  a  subtle 
way,  he  was  more  feverishly  wretched  than  when  Margot  was 
near,  and  while  planning  to  hurry  on  the  marriage.     He  had 
been  buoyed  up  with  a  rather  youthful  sense  of  defiance  of 
the  world,  a  hot  desire  to  "get  everything  over."     The  flatness 
of  the  reaction  which  he  felt  on  finding  himself  free,  at  least 
of  Margot's  society,  was  a  surprise;  and  yet  Stephen  vaguely 
understood   its  real  meaning.     To  be  free,  yet  not   free,  was 
an  aggravation.     And  besides,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  or 
where  to  go,  now  that  old  friends  and  old  haunts  had  lost  much 
of  their  attraction. 

Since  the  announcement  of  his  engagement  to  Miss  Lorenzi, 
and  especially  since  the  famous  interview,  copied  in  all  the 
papers,  he  disliked  meeting  people  he  knew  well,  lest  they 
should  offer  good  advice,  or  let  him  see  that  they  were  dying 
to  do  so. 

If  it  had  been  weak  to  say,  "Be  my  wife,  if  you  think  I  can 
make  you  happy,"  one  day  when  Margot  Lorenzi  had  tear- 
fully confessed  her  love  for  him,  it  would  be  doubly  weak  - 
worse  than  weak,  Stephen  thought  —  to  throw  her  over  now. 
It  would  look  to  the  world  as  if  he  were  a  coward,  and  it  would 
look  to  himself  the  same  —  which  would  be  more  painful  in 
the  end.  So  he  could  listen  to  no  advice,  and  he  wished  to 
hear  none.  Fortunately  he  was  not  in  love  with  any  other 
woman.  But  then,  if  he  had  loved  somebody  else,  he  would 

18 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  19 

not  have  made  the  foolish  mistake  of  saying  those  unlucky, 
irrevocable  words  to  Margot. 

Stephen  would  have  liked  to  get  away  from  England  for  a 
while,  but  he  hardly  knew  where  to  look  for  a  haven.  Since 
making  a  dash  through  France  and  Italy  just  after  leaving 
Oxford,  he  had  been  too  busy  amusing  himself  in  his  own 
country  to  find  time  for  any  other,  with  the  exception  of  an 
occasional  run  over  to  Paris.  Now,  if  he  stopped  in  England 
it  would  be  difficult  to  evade  officious  friends,  and  soon  every- 
body would  be  gossiping  about  his  quarrel  with  Northmorland. 
The  Duchess  was  not  reticent. 

Stephen  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do,  or  whether 
to  do  anything  at  all  in  his  brief  interval  of  freedom,  when  a 
letter  came,  to  the  flat  near  Albert  Gate,  where  he  had  shut 
himself  up  after  the  sailing  of  Margot.  The  letter  was  post- 
marked Algiers,  and  it  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen  the 
writing  on  the  envelope  —  but  not  so  long  that  he  had  forgotten 
it. 

"Nevill  Caird!"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  broke  the  neat 
seal  which  was  characteristic  of  the  writer.  And  he  wondered, 
as  he  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  unfolded  the  letter,  whether 
Nevill  Caird  had  been  reminded  of  him  by  reading  the  inter- 
view with  Margot.  Once,  he  and  Caird  had  been  very  good 
friends,  almost  inseparable  during  one  year  at  Oxford.  Ste- 
phen had  been  twenty  then,  and  Nevill  Caird  about  twenty- 
three.  That  would  make  him  thirty-two  now  —  and  Stephen 
could  hardly  imagine  what  "Wings"  would  have  developed 
mto  at  thirty-two.  They  had  not  met  since  Stephen's  last  year 
it  Oxford,  for  Caird  had  gone  to  live  abroad,  and  if  he  came 
back  to  England  sometimes,  he  had  never  made  any  sign  of 
wishing  to  pick  up  the  old  friendship  where  it  had  dropped. 
But  here  was  this  letter. 

Stephen  knew  that  Caird  had  inherited  a  good  deal  of  money, 
and  a  house  in  Paris,  from  an  uncle  or  some  other  near  relative; 
and  a  common  friend  had  told  him  that  there  was  also  an  Arab 


20  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

palace,  very  ancient  and  very  beautiful,  in  or  near  Algiers. 
Several  years  had  passed  since  Nevill  Caird's  name  had  been 
mentioned  in  his  hearing,  and  lately  it  had  not  even  echoed  in 
his  mind;  but  now,  the  handwriting  and  the  neat  seal  on  this 
envelope  brought  vividly  before  him  the  image  of  his  friend: 
small,  slight,  boyish  in  face  and  figure,  with  a  bright,  yet  dreamy 
smile,  and  blue-grey  eyes  which  had  the  look  of  seeing  beautiful 
things  that  nobody  else  could  see. 

"DEAR  LEGS,"  began  the  letter  ("Legs"  being  the  name 
which  Stephen's  skill  as  a  runner,  as  well  as  the  length  of  his 
limbs,  had  given  him  in  undergraduate  days).  "Dear  Legs, 
I've  often  thought  about  you  in  the  last  nine  years,  and  hope 
you've  occasionally  thought  of  me,  though  somehow  or  other 
we  haven't  written.  I  don't  know  whether  you've  travelled 
much,  or  whether  England  has  absorbed  all  your  interests. 
Anyhow,  can't  you  come  out  here  and  make  me  a  visit  —  the 
longer  it  is,  the  more  I  shall  be  pleased.  This  country  is  in- 
teresting if  you  don't  know  it,  and  fascinating  if  you  do.  My 
place  is  rather  nice,  and  I  should  like  you  to  see  it.  Still  better, 
I  should  like  to  see  you.  Do  come  if  you  can,  and  come  soon. 
I  should  enjoy  showing  you  my  garden  at  its  best.  It's  one  of 
the  things  I  care  for  most,  but  there  are  other  things.  Do  let 
me  introduce  you  to  them  all.  You  can  be  as  quiet  as  you 
wish,  if  you  wish.  I'm  a  quiet  sort  myself,  as  you  may  remem- 
ber, and  North  Africa  suits  me  better  than  London  or  Paris. 
I  haven't  changed  for  the  worse  I  hope,  and  I'm  sure  you 
haven't,  in  any  way. 

"You  can  hardly  realize  how  much  pleasure  it  will  give  me  if 
you'll  say  'yes'  to  my  proposal. 

"Yours  as  ever 

"NEVILL  CAIRD,  alias  '  Wings.'  " 

Not  a  word  of  "the  case,"  though,  of  course,  he  must  know 
**11  about  it  —  even  in  Algiers.  Stephen's  gratitude  went  out 


21 

to  his  old  friend,  and  his  heart  felt  warmer  because  of  the 
letter  and  the  invitation.  Many  people,  even  with  the  best 
intentions,  would  have  contrived  to  say  the  wrong  thing  in 
these  awkward  circumstances.  There  would  have  been  some 
veiled  allusion  to  the  engagement;  either  silly,  well-meant 
congratulations  and  good  wishes,  or  else  a  stupid  hint  of  advice 
to  get  out  of  a  bad  business  while  there  was  time.  But  Caird 

O 

wrote  as  he  might  have  written  if  there  had  been  no  case,  and 
no  entanglement;  and  acting  on  his  first  impulse,  Stephen  tele- 
graphed an  acceptance,  saying  that  he  would  start  for  Algiers 
in  two  or  three  days.  Afterwards,  when  he  had  given  himself 
time  to  think,  he  did  not  regret  his  decision.  Indeed,  he  was 
glad  of  it,  and  glad  that  he  had  made  it  so  soon. 

A  few  weeks  ago,  a  sudden  break  in  his  plans  would  have 
caused  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  There  would  have  been 
dozens  of  luncheons  and  dinners  to  escape  from,  and  twice 
as  many  letters  to  write.  But  nowadays  he  had  few  invita- 
tions and  scarcely  any  letters  to  write,  except  those  of  business, 
and  an  occasional  line  to  Margot.  People  were  willing  to  be 
neglected  by  him,  willing  to  let  him  alone,  for  now  that  he  had 
quarrelled  with  Northmorland  and  the  Duchess,  and  had 
promised  to  marry  an  impossible  woman,  he  must  be  gently 
but  firmly  taught  to  expect  little  of  Society  in  future. 

Stephen  broke  the  news  to  his  man  that  he  was  going  away, 
alone,  and  though  the  accomplished  Molton  had  regrets,  they 
were  not  as  poignant  as  they  would  have  been  some  weeks 
earlier.  Most  valets,  if  not  all,  are  human,  and  have  a  weak- 
ness for  a  master  whose  social  popularity  is  as  unbounded  as 
his  generosity. 

Molton's  services  did  not  cease  until  after  he  had  packed 
Stephen's  luggage,  and  seen  him  off  at  Victoria.  He  flattered 
himself,  as  he  left  the  station  with  three  months'  wages  in  his 
pocket,  that  he  would  be  missed;  but  Stephen  was  surprised 
at  the  sense  of  relief  which  came  as  Molton  turned  a  respectable 
back,  and  the  boat-train  began  to  slide  out  of  the  station.  It 


22  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

was  good  to  be  alone,  to  have  loosed  his  moorings,  and  to  be 
drifting  away  where  no  eyes,  once  kind,  would  turn  from  him. 
or  turn  on  him  with  pity.  Out  there  in  Algiers,  a  town  of  which 
he  had  the  vaguest  conception,  there  would  be  people  who  read 
the  papers,  of  course,  and  people  who  loved  to  gossip;  but 
Stephen  felt  a  pleasant  confidence  that  Nevill  Caird  would 
know  how  to  protect  him  from  such  people.  He  would  not 
have  to  meet  many  strangers.  Nevill  would  arrange  all 
that,  and  give  him  plenty  to  think  about  during  his  weeks  of 
freedom. 

Algiers  seemed  a  remote  place  to  Stephen,  who  had  loved 
life  at  home  too  passionately  to  care  for  foreign  travel.  Be- 
sides, there  was  always  a  great  deal  to  do  in  England  at  every- 
season  of  the  year,  and  it  had  been  difficult  to  find  a  time  con- 
venient for  getting  away.  Town  engagements  began  early 
in  the  spring,  and  lasted  till  after  Cowes,  when  he  was  keen 
for  Scotland.  Being  a  gregarious  as  well  as  an  idle  young 
man,  he  was  pleased  with  his  own  popularity,  and  the  number 
of  his  invitations  for  country-house  visits.  He  could  never 
accept  more  than  half,  but  even  so,  he  hardly  saw  London  until 
January;  and  then,  if  he  went  abroad  at  all,  there  was  only  time 
for  a  few  days  in  Paris,  and  a  fortnight  on  the  Riviera,  perhaps, 
before  he  found  that  he  must  get  back.  Just  after  leaving 
Oxford,  before  his  father's  death,  he  had  been  to  Rome,  to  Ber- 
lin, and  Vienna,  and  returned  better  satisfied  than  ever  with 
his  own  capital;  but  of  course  it  was  different  now  that  the 
capital  was  dissatisfied  with  him. 

He  had  chosen  the  night  train  and  it  was  not  crowded.  All 
the  way  to  Dover  he  had  the  compartment  to  himself,  and 
there  was  no  rush  for  the  boat.  It  was  a  night  of  stars  and 
balmy  airs;  but  after  the  start  the  wind  freshened,  and  Stephen 
walked  briskly  up  and  down  the  deck,  shivering  slightly  at 
first,  till  his  blood  warmed.  By  and  by  it  grew  so  cold  that 
the  deck  emptied,  save  for  half  a  dozen  men  with  pipes  that 
glowed  between  turned-up  coat  collars,  and  one  girl  in  a  blue 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  23 

serge  dress,  with  no  other  cloak  than  the  jacket  that  matched 
her  frock.  Stephen  hardly  noticed  her  at  first,  but  as  men 
buttoned  their  coats  or  went  below,  and  she  remained,  his 
attention  was  attracted  to  the  slim  figure  leaning  on  the  rail. 
Her  face  was  turned  away,  looking  over  the  sea  where  the 
whirling  stars  dipped  into  dark  waves  that  sprang  to  engulf 
them.  Her  elbows  rested  on  the  railing,  and  her  chin  lay  in 
the  cup  of  her  two  hands;  but  her  hair,  under  a  blue  sailor-hat 
held  down  with  a  veil,  hung  low  in  a  great  looped-up  plait, 
tied  with  a  wide  black  ribbon,  so  that  Stephen,  without  wasting 
much  thought  upon  her,  guessed  that  she  must  be  very  young. 
It  was  red  hair,  gleaming  where  the  light  touched  it,  and  the 
wind  thrashed  curly  tendrils  out  from  the  thick  clump  of  the 
braid,  tracing  bright  threads  in  intricate,  lacy  lines  over 
her  shoulders,  like  the  network  of  sunlight  that  plays  on  the 
surface  of  water. 

Stephen  thought  of  that  simile  after  he  had  passed  the  girl 
once  or  twice,  and  thinking  of  it  made  him  think  of  the  girl 
herself.  He  was  sure  she  must  be  cold  in  her  serge  jacket, 
and  wondered  why  she  didn't  go  below  to  the  ladies'  cabin. 
Also  he  wondered,  even  more  vaguely,  why  her  people  didn't 
take  better  care  of  the  child:  there  must  be  some  one  belong- 
ing to  her  on  board. 

At  last  she  turned,  not  to  look  at  him,  but  to  pace  back  and 
forth  as  others  were  pacing.  She  was  in  front  of  Stephen,  and 
he  saw  only  her  back,  which  seemed  more  girlish  than  ever 
as  she  walked  with  a  light,  springing  step,  that  might  have 
kept  time  to  some  dainty  dance-music  which  only  she  could 
hear.  Her  short  dress,  of  hardly  more  than  ankle  length, 
flowed  past  her  slender  shape  as  the  black,  white-frothing 
waves  flowed  past  the  slim  prow  of  the  boat;  and  there  was 
something  individual,  something  distinguished  in  her  gait  and 
the  bearing  of  her  head  on  the  young  throat.  Stephen  noticed 
this  rather  interesting  peculiarity,  remarking  it  more  definitely 
because  of  the  almost  mean  simplicity  of  the  blue  serge  dress 


«4  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

It  was  of  provincial  cut,  and  looked  as  if  the  wearer  might 
have  bought  it  ready  made  in  some  country  town.  Her  hat, 
too,  was  of  the  sort  that  is  turned  out  by  the  thousand  and 
sold  at  a  few  shillings  for  young  persons  between  the  ages  of 
twelve  and  twenty. 

By  and  by,  when  she  had  walked  as  far  forward  as  possible, 
the  deck  rising  under  her  feet  or  plunging  down,  while  thin 
spray- wreaths  sailed  by  on  the  wind,  the  girl  wheeled  and  had 
the  breeze  at  her  back.  It  was  then  Stephen  caught  his  first 
glimpse  of  her  face,  in  a  full  white  blaze  of  electric  light:  and 
he  had  the  picture  to  himself,  for  by  this  time  nearly  every  one 
else  had  gone. 

He  had  not  expected  anything  wonderful,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  in  a  flash  of  surprise  that  this  was  an  amazing  beauty. 
He  had  never  seen  such  hair,  or  such  a  complexion.  The 
large  eyes  gave  him  no  more  than  a  passing  glance,  but  they 
were  so  vivid,  so  full  of  blue  light  as  they  met  his,  that  he  had  a 
startled  impression  of  being  graciously  accosted.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  girl  had  some  message  to  give  him,  for  which  he  must 
stop  and  ask. 

As  soon  as  they  had  passed  each  other,  however,  that  curious, 
exciting  impression  was  gone,  like  the  vanishing  glint  on  a 
gull's  wing  as  it  dips  from  sun  into  shadow.  Of  course  she 
had  not  spoken;  of  course  she  had  no  word  to  give  him.  He 
had  seemed  to  hear  her  speak,  because  she  was  a  very  vital 
sort  of  creature,  no  doubt,  and  therefore  physically,  though 
unconsciously,  magnetic. 

At  their  next  crossing  under  the  light  she  did  not  look  at 
him  at  all,  and  he  realized  that  she  was  not  so  extraordinarily 
beautiful  as  he  had  at  first  thought.  The  glory  of  her  was 
more  an  effect  of  colouring  than  anything  else.  The  creamy 
complexion  of  a  very  young  girl,  whipped  to  rose  and  white 
by  the  sea  wind;  brilliant  turquoise  blue  eyes  under  a  glitter 
of  wavy  red  hair;  these  were  the  only  marvels,  for  the  small, 
straight  nose  was  exactly  like  most  pretty  girls'  noses,  and  the 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  25 

mouth,  though  expressive  and  sweet,  with  a  short  upper  lip, 
was  not  remarkable,  unless  for  its  firmness. 

The  next  time  they  passed,  Stephen  granted  the  girl  a  certain 
charm  of  expression  which  heightened  the  effect  of  beauty. 
She  looked  singularly  innocent  and  interested  in  life,  which 
to  Stephen's  mood  seemed  pathetic.  He  was  convinced  that 
he  had  seen  through  life,  and  consequently  ceased  forever  to 
be  interested  in  it.  But  he  admired  beauty  wherever  he  saw 
it,  whether  in  the  grace  of  a  breaking  wave,  or  the  sheen  on  a 
girl's  bright  hair,  and  it  amused  him  faintly  to  speculate  about 
the  young  creature  with  the  brilliant  eyes  and  blowing  red  locks. 
He  decided  that  she  was  a  schoolgirl  of  sixteen,  being  taken 
over  to  Paris,  probably  to  finish  her  education  there.  Her 
mother  or  guardian  was  no  doubt  prostrate  with  sea-sickness, 
careless  for  the  moment  whether  the  child  paraded  the  deck 
insufficiently  clad,  or  whether  she  fell  unchaperoned  into  the 
sea.  Judging  by  her  clothes,  her  family  was  poor,  and  she 
was  perhaps  intended  for  a  governess:  that  was  why  they  were 
sending  her  to  France.  She  was  to  be  given  "every  advan- 
tage," in  order  to  command  "desirable  situations"  by  and  by. 
Stephen  felt  dimly  sorry  for  the  little  thing,  who  looked  so 
radiantly  happy  now.  She  was  much  too  pretty  to  be  a  gov- 
erness, or  to  be  obliged  to  earn  her  own  living  in  any  way. 
Women  were  brutes  to  each  other  sometimes.  He  had  been 
finding  this  out  lately.  Few  would  care  to  bring  a  flowerlike 
creature  of  that  type  into  their  houses.  The  girl  had 
trouble  before  her.  He  was  sure  she  was  going  to  be  a 
governess. 

After  she  had  walked  for  half  an  hour  she  looked  round  for 
a  sheltered  corner  and  sat  down.  But  the  place  she 
had  chosen  was  only  comparatively  sheltered,  and  presently 
Stephen  fancied  that  he  saw  her  shivering  with  cold.  He  could 
not  bear  this,  knowing  that  he  had  a  rug  which  Molton  had 
forced  upon  him  to  use  on  board  ship  between  Marseilles  and 
Algiers.  It  was  in  a  rolled-up  thing  which  Molton  called  a 


26  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"hold-all,"  along  with  some  sticks  and  an  umbrella,  Stephen 
believed;  and  the  rolled-up  thing  was  on  deck,  with  other 
hand-luggage. 

"Will  you  let  me  lend  you  a  rug?"  he  asked,  in  the  tone  of 
a  benevolent  uncle  addressing  a  child.  "I  have  one  close  by, 
and  it's  rather  cold  when  you  don't  walk." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  girl.  "I  should  like  it, 
if  it  won't  be  too  much  trouble  to  you." 

She  spoke  simply,  and  had  a  pretty  voice,  but  it  was  an 
American  voice.  Stephen  was  surprised,  because  to  find  that 
she  was  an  American  upset  his  theories.  He  had  never  heard 
of  American  girls  coming  over  to  Paris  with  the  object  of  train- 
ing to  be  governesses. 

He  went  away  and  found  the  rug,  returning  with  it  in  two  or 
three  minutes.  The  girl  thanked  him  again,  getting  up  and 
wrapping  the  dark  soft  thing  round  her  shoulders  and  body,  as 
if  it  had  been  a  big  shawl.  Then  she  sat  down  once  more, 
with  a  comfortable  little  sigh.  "That  does  feel  good!"  she 
exclaimed .  "I  was  cold . " 

"I  think  you  would  have  been  wiser  to  stop  in  the  ladies' 
cabin,"  said  Stephen,  still  with  the  somewhat  patronizing  air 
of  the  older  person. 

"I  like  lots  of  air,"  explained  the  girl.  "And  it  doesn't 
do  me  any  harm  to  be  cold." 

"How  about  getting  a  chill?"  inquired  Stephen. 

"Oh,  I  never  have  such  things.  They  don't  exist.  At 
least  they  don't  unless  one  encourages  them,"  she  replied. 

He  smiled,  rather  interested,  and  pleased  to  linger,  since 
she  evidently  understood  that  he  was  using  no  arts  to  scrape 
an  acquaintance.  "That  sounds  like  Christian  Science,"  he 
ventured. 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  any  kind  of  science,"  said  she.  "No- 
body ever  talked  to  me  about  it.  Only  if  you're  not  afraid 
of  things,  they  can't  hurt  you,  can  they?" 

"Perhaps  not.     I  suppose  you  mean  you  needn't  let  your- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  27 

self  feel  them.  There's  something  in  the  idea:  be  callous  as 
an  alligator  and  nothing  can  hit  you." 

"I  don't  mean  that  at  all.  I'd  hate  to  be  callous,"  she  ob- 
jected. "We  couldn't  enjoy  things  if  we  were  callous." 

Stephen,  on  the  point  of  saying  something  bitter,  stopped  in 
time,  knowing  that  his  words  would  have  been  not  only  stupid 
but  obvious,  which  was  worse.  "It  is  good  to  be  young,"  he 
remarked  instead. 

"Yes,  but  I'm  glad  to  be  grown  up  at  last,"  said  the  girl; 
and  Stephen  would  not  let  himself  laugh. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  he  answered.  "I  used  to  feel  like 
that  too." 

"Don't  you  now?" 

"Not  always.  I've  had  plenty  of  time  to  get  tired  of  being 
grown  up." 

"Maybe  you've  been  a  soldier,  and  have  seen  sad  things," 
she  suggested.  "I  was  thinking  when  I  first  saw  you,  that 
you  looked  like  a  soldier." 

"I  wish  I  had  been.  Unfortunately  I  was  too  disgustingly 
young,  when  our  only  war  of  my  day  was  on.  I  mean,  the  sort 
of  war  one  could  volunteer  for." 

"In  South  Africa?" 

"Yes.     You  were  a  baby  in  that  remote  time." 

"Oh  no,  I  wasn't.  I'm  eighteen  now,  going  on  nineteen. 
I  was  in  Paris  then,  with  my  stepmother  and  my  sister.  We 
used  to  hear  talk  about  the  war,  though  we  knew  hardly  any 
English  people." 

"So  Paris  won't  be  a  new  experience  to  you  ?"  said  Stephen, 
disappointed  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  all  his  surmises. 

"I  went  back  to  America  before  I  was  nine,  and  I've  been 
there  ever  since,  till  a  few  weeks  ago.  Oh  see,  there  are  the 
lights  of  France!  I  can't  help  being  excited." 

"Yes,  we'll  be  in  very  soon  —  in  about  ten  minutes." 

"I  am  glad!  I'd  better  go  below  and  make  my  hair  tidy. 
Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  helping  me  to  be  comfortable." 


28  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  jumped  up,  unrolled  herself,  and  began  to  fold  the  rug 
neatly.  Stephen  would  have  taken  it  from  her  and  bundled  it 
together  anyhow,  but  she  would  not  let  him  do  that.  "I  like 
folded  things,"  she  said.  "It's  nice  to  see  them  come  straight, 
and  I  enjoy  it  more  because  the  wind  doesn't  want  me 'to  do  it. 
To  succeed  in  spite  of  something,  is  a  kind  of  little  triumph  — 
and  seems  like  a  sign.  Good-bye,  and  thank  you  once 
more/* 

"Good-bye,"  said  Stephen,  and  added  to  himself  that  he 
would  not  soon  again  see  so  pretty  a  child ;  as  fresh,  as  frank,  or 
as  innocent.  He  had  known  several  delightful  American  girls, 
but  never  one  like  this.  She  was  a  new  type  to  him,  and  more 
interesting,  perhaps,  because  she  was  simple,  and  even  provin- 
cial. He  was  in  a  state  of  mind  to  glorify  women  who  were 
entirely  unsophisticated. 

He  did  not  see  the  girl  getting  into  the  train  at  Calais,  though 
he  looked  for  her,  feeling  some  curiosity  as  to  the  stepmother 
and  the  sister  whom  he  had  imagined  prostrate  in  the  ladies* 
cabin.  By  the  time  he  had  arrived  at  Paris  he  felt  sleepy  and 
dull  after  an  aggravating  doze  or  two  on  the  way,  and  had 
almost  forgotten  the  red-haired  child  with  the  vivid  blue  eyes, 
until,  to  his  astonishment,  he  saw  her  alone  parleying  with  a 
douanier,  over  two  great  boxes,  for  one  of  which  there  seemed 
to  be  no  key. 

"Those  selfish  people  of  hers  have  left  her  to  do  all  the  work," 
he  said  to  himself  indignantly,  and  as  she  appeared  to  be  hav- 
ing some  difficulty  with  the  official,  he  went  to  ask  if  he  could 
help. 

"Thank  you,  it's  all  right  now,"  she  said.  "The  key  of 
my  biggest  box  is  mislaid,  but  luckily  I've  got  the  man  to  be- 
lieve me  when  I  say  there's  nothing  in  it  except  clothes,  just 
the  same  as  in  the  other.  Still  it  would  be  very,  very  kind 
if  you  wouldn't  mind  seeing  me  to  a  cab.  That  is,  if  it's  no 
bother." 

Stephen  assured  her  that  he  would  be  delighted. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  29 

"Have  your  people  engaged  the  cab  already,"  he  wanted  to 
know,  "or  are  they  waiting  in  this  room  for  you  ?" 

"I  haven't  any  people,"  she  answered.  "I'm  all  by  my- 
self." 

This  was  another  surprise,  and  it  was  as  much  as  Stephen 
could  do  not  to  blame  her  family  audibly  for  allowing  the  child 
to  travel  alone,  at  night  too.  The  thing  seemed  monstrous. 

He  took  her  into  the  court-yard,  where  the  cabs  stood, 
and  engaged  two,  one  for  the  girl,  and  one  for  her  large 
luggage. 

"You  have  rooms  already  taken  at  an  hotel,  I  hope?"  he 
asked. 

"I'm  going  to  a  boarding-house  —  a  pension,!  mean, "ex- 
plained the  girl.  "  But  it's  all  right.  They  know  I'm  coming. 
I  do  thank  you  for  everything." 

Seated  in  the  cab,  she  held  out  her  hand  in  a  glove  which 
had  been  cleaned,  and  showed  mended  fingers.  Stephen  shook 
the  small  hand  gravely,  and  for  the  second  time  they  bade  each 
other  good-bye. 

In  the  cold  grey  light  of  a  rainy  dawn,  which  would  have 
suited  few  women  as  a  background,  especially  after  a  night 
journey,  the  girl's  face  looked  pearly,  and  Stephen  saw  that 
her  lashes,  darker  at  the  roots,  were  bright  golden  at  the  turned- 
up  ends. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  this  pretty  child,  alone  in  the  grey- 
ness  and  rain  of  the  big  foreign  city,  was  like  a  spring  flower 
thrown  carelessly  into  a  river  to  float  with  the  stream.  He 
felt  an  impulse  of  protection,  and  it  went  against  his  instincts 
to  let  her  drive  about  Paris  unprotected,  while  night  had  hardly 
yielded  to  morning.  But  he  could  not  offer  to  go  with  her. 
He  was  interested,  as  any  man  of  flesh  and  blood  must  be  in- 
terested, in  the  fate  of  an  innocent  and  charming  girl  left  to 
take  care  of  herself,  and  entirely  unfitted  for  the  task;  yet  she 
seemed  happy  and  self-confident,  and  he  had  no  right,  even 
if  he  wished,  to  disturb  her  mind.  He  was  going  away  with- 


90  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

out  another  word  after  the  good-bye,  but  on  second  thoughts 
felt  that  he  might  ask  if  she  had  friends  in  Paris. 

"Not  exactly  friends,  but  people  who  will  look  after  me, 
and  be  kind,  I'm  sure,"  she  answered.  "Thank  you  for  taking 
an  interest.  Will  you  tell  the  man  to  go  to  278A  Rue  Washing- 
ton, and  the  other  cab  to  follow?" 

Stephen  obeyed,  and  as  she  drove  away  the  girl  looked  back, 
smiling  at  him  her  sweet  and  childlike  smile. 


m 


STEPHEN  had  meant  to  stop  only  one  day  in  Paris, 
and  travel  at  night  to  Marseilles,  where  he  would  have 
twelve  or  fifteen  hours  to  wait  before  the  sailing  of 
the  ship  on  which  he  had  engaged  a  cabin.  But  glancing 
over  a  French  paper  while  he  breakfasted  at  the  Westminster, 
he  saw  that  a  slight  accident  had  happened  to  the  boat  dur- 
ing a  storm  on  her  return  voyage  from  Algiers,  and  that  she 
would  be  delayed  three  days  for  repairs.  This  news  made 
Stephen  decide  to  remain  in  Paris  for  those  days,  rather  than 
go  on  and  wait  at  Marseilles,  or  take  another  ship.  He  did 
not  want  to  see  any  one  he  knew,  but  he  thought  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  spend  some  hours  picture-gazing  at  the  Louvre, 
and  doing  a  few  other  things  which  one  ought  to  do  in  Paris, 
and  seldom  does. 

That  night  he  went  to  bed  early  and  slept  better  than  he 
had  slept  for  weeks.  The  next  day  he  almost  enjoyed,  and 
when  evening  came,  felt  desultory,  even  light-hearted. 

Dining  at  his  hotel,  he  overheard  the  people  at  the  next 
table  say  they  were  going  to  the  Folies  Bergeres  to  see  Victoria 
Ray  dance,  and  suddenly  Stephen  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  go  there  too:  for  if  life  had  been  running  its  usual 
course  with  him,  he  would  certainly  have  gone  to  see  Victoria 
Ray  in  London.  She  had  danced  lately,  at  the  Palace  Thea- 
tre for  a  month  or  six  weeks,  and  absorbed  as  he  had  been  in 
his  own  affairs,  he  had  heard  enough  talk  about  this  new 
dancer  to  know  that  she  had  made  what  is  called  a  "  sensation." 

The  people  at  the  next  table  were  telling  each  other  that 
Victoria  Ray's  Paris  engagement  was  only  for  three  nights, 

SI 


32  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

something  special,  with  huge  pay,  and  that  there  was  a  "regu- 
lar scramble"  for  seats,  as  the  girl  had  been  such  a  success  in 
New  York  and  London.  The  speakers,  who  were  English 
and  provincial,  had  already  taken  places,  but  there  did  not 
appear  to  be  much  hope  that  Stephen  could  get  anything  at 
the  last  minute.  The  little  spice  of  difficulty  gave  a  fillip  of 
interest,  however;  and  he  remembered  how  the  charming 
child  on  the  boat  had  said  that  she  "liked  doing  difficult 
things."  He  wondered  what  she  was  doing  now;  and  as  he 
thought  of  her,  white  and  ethereal  in  the  night  and  in  the 
dawn-light,  she  seemed  to  him  like  the  foam-flowers  that  had 
blossomed  for  an  instant  on  the  crests  of  dark  waves,  through 
which  their  vessel  forged.  "For  a  moment  white,  then  gone 
forever."  The  words  glittered  in  his  mind,  and  fascinated 
him,  calling  up  the  image  of  the  girl,  pale  against  the  night 
and  rainy  sea.  "For  a  moment  white,  then  gone  forever," 
he  repeated,  and  asked  himself  whence  came  the  line.  From 
Burns,  he  fancied;  and  thought  it  quaintly  appropriate  to 
the  fair  child  whose  clear  whiteness  had  thrown  a  gleam  into 
his  life  before  she  vanished. 

All  the  seats  for  this  second  night  of  Victoria  Ray's  short 
engagement  were  sold  at  the  Folies  Bergeres,  he  found,  from 
the  dearest  to  the  cheapest:  but  there  was  standing  room 
still  when  Stephen  arrived,  and  he  squeezed  himself  in  among 
a  group  of  light-hearted,  long-haired  students  from  the  Latin 
Quarter.  He  had  an  hour  to  wait  before  Victoria  Ray  would 
dance,  but  there  was  some  clever  conjuring  to  be  seen,  a  fam- 
ous singer  of  chansons  to  be  heard,  and  other  performances 
which  made  the  time  pass  well  enough.  Then,  at  last,  it  was 
the  new  dancer's  "turn." 

The  curtain  remained  down  for  several  minutes,  as  some 
scenic  preparation  was  necessary  before  her  first  dance.  Gay 
French  music  was  playing,  and  people  chattered  through  it, 
or  laughed  in  high  Parisian  voices.  A  blue  haze  of  smoke 
hung  suspended  like  a  thin  veil,  and  the  air  was  close,  scented 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  33 

with  tobacco  and  perfume.  Stephen  looked  at  his  programme, 
beginning  to  feel  bored.  His  elbows  were  pressed  against  his 
sides  by_  the  crowd.  Miss  Ray  was  down  for  two  dances,  the 
Dance  of  the  Statue  and  the  Dance  of  the  Shadow.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  place  depressed  him.  He  doubted  after 
all,  that  he  would  care  for  the  dancing.  But  as  he  began  to 
wish  he  had  not  come  the  curtain  went  up,  to  show  the  studio 
of  a  sculptor,  empty  save  for  the  artist's  marble  masterpieces. 
Through  a  large  skylight,  and  a  high  window  at  the  back  of 
the  stage,  a  red  glow  of  sunset  streamed  into  the  bare  room. 
In  the  shadowy  corners  marble  forms  were  grouped,  but  in  the 
centre,  directly  under  the  full  flood  of  rose-coloured  light,  the 
just  finished  statue  of  a  girl  stood  on  a  raised  platform.  She 
was  looking  up,  and  held  a  cup  in  one  lifted  hand,  as  if  to 
catch  the  red  wine  of  sunset.  Her  draperies,  confined  by  a 
Greek  ceinture  under  the  young  bust,  fell  from  shoulder  to 
foot  in  long  clear  lines  that  seemed  cut  in  gleaming  stone. 
The  illusion  was  perfect.  Even  in  that  ruddy  blaze  the  deli- 
cate, draped  form  appeared  to  be  of  carved  marble.  It  was 
almost  impossible  to  believe  it  that  of  a  living  woman,  and 
its  grace  of  outline  and  pose  was  so  perfect  that  Stephen,  in 
his  love  of  beauty,  dreaded  the  first  movement  which  must 
change,  if  not  break,  the  tableau.  He  said  to  himself  that 
there  was  some  faint  resemblance  between  this  chiselled  love- 
liness and  the  vivid  charm  of  the  pretty  child  he  had  met  on 
the  boat.  He  could  imagine  that  a  statue  for  which  she  had 
stood  as  model  might  look  like  this,  though  the  features  seemed 
to  his  eye  more  regular  than  those  of  the  girl. 

As  he  gazed,  the  music,  which  had  been  rich  and  colourful, 
fell  into  softer  notes;  and  the  rose-sunset  faded  to  an  opal 
twilight,  purple  to  blue,  blue  to  the  silver  of  moonlight,  the 
music  changing  as  the  light  changed,  until  at  last  it  was  low 
and  slumberous  as  the  drip-drip  of  a  plashing  fountain.  Then, 
into  the  dream  of  the  music  broke  a  sound  like  the  distant 
striking  of  a  clock.  It  was  midnight,  and  all  the  statues  in 


34  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  sculptor's  bare,  white  studio  began  to  wake  at  the  magic 
stroke  wkich  granted  them  a  few  hours  of  life. 

There  was  just  a  shimmer  of  movement  in  the  dim  corners. 
Marble  limbs  stirred,  marble  face  turned  slowly  to  gaze  at 
marble  face;  yet,  as  if  they  could  be  only  half  awakened  in 
the  shadows  where  the  life-giving  draught  of  moonlight  might 
not  flow,  there  was  but  the  faintest  flicker  of  white  forms  and 
draperies.  It  was  the  just  finished  statue  of  the  girl  which 
felt  the  full  thrill  of  moonshine  and  midnight.  She  woke 
rapturously,  and  drained  the  silver  moon-wine  in  her  cup 
(the  music  told  the  story  of  her  first  thought  and  living  heart- 
beat): then  down  she  stepped  from  the  platform  where  the 
sculptor's  tools  still  lay,  and  began  to  dance  for  the  other 
statues  who  watched  in  the  dusk,  hushed  back  into  stillness 
under  the  new  spell  of  her  enchantments. 

Stephen  had  never  seen  anything  like  that  dance.  Many 
pretty  premieres  danseuses  he  had  admired  and  applauded, 
charming  and  clever  young  women  of  France,  of  Russia,  of 
Italy,  and  Spain :  and  they  had  roused  him  and  all  London  to 
enthusiasm  over  dances  eccentric,  original,  exquisite,  or  wild. 
But  never  had  there  been  anything  like  this.  Stephen  had 
not  known  that  a  dance  could  move  him  as  this  did.  He  was 
roused,  even  thrilled  by  its  poetry,  and  the  perfect  beauty  of 
its  poses,  its  poises.  It  must,  he  supposed,  have  been  prac- 
tised patiently,  perhaps  for  years,  yet  it  produced  the  effect 
of  being  entirely  unstudied.  At  all  events,  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  ordinary  sense  "professional"  about  it.  One  would 
say  —  not  knowing  the  supreme  art  of  supreme  grace  —  that 
a  joyous  child,  born  to  the  heritage  of  natural  grace,  might 
dance  thus  by  sheer  inspiration,  in  ecstasy  of  life  and  wor- 
ship of  the  newly  felt  beauty  of  earth.  Stephen  did  know 
something  of  art,  and  the  need  of  devotion  to  its  study;  yet  he 
found  it  hard  to  realize  that  this  awakened  marble  loveliness 
had  gone  through  the  same  performance  week  after  week, 
month  after  month,  in  America  and  England.  He  preferred 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  35 

rather  to  let  himself  fancy  that  he  was  dreaming  the  whole 
thing;  and  he  would  gladly  have  dreamed  on  indefinitely,, 
forgetting  the  smoky  atmosphere,  forgetting  the  long-haired 
students  and  all  the  incongruous  surroundings.  The  gracious, 
dream  gave  him  peace  and  pleasure  such  as  he  had  not  known 
since  the  beginning  of  the  Northmorland  case. 

Through  the  house  there  was  a  hush,  unusual  at  the  FoXes. 
Bergeres.  People  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  the  dances,, 
so  different  from  any  ever  seen  in  a  theatre  of  Paris.  Stephen 
was  not  alone  in  feeling  the  curious  dream-spell  woven  by 
music  and  perfection  of  beauty.  But  the  light  changed.  The 
moonlight  slowly  faded.  Dancer  and  music  faltered,  in  the 
falling  of  the  dark  hour  before  dawn.  The  charm  was  wan- 
ing. Soft  notes  died,  and  quavered  in  apprehension.  The 
magic  charm  of  the  moon  was  breaking,  had  broken:  a  crash 
of  cymbals  and  the  studio  was  dark.  Then  light  began  to 
glimmer  once  more,  but  it  was  the  chill  light  of  dawn,  and 
growing  from  purple  to  blue,  from  blue  to  rosy  day,  it  showed 
the  marble  statues  fast  locked  in  marble  sleep  again.  On  the 
platform  stood  the  girl  with  uplifted  arm,  holding  her  cup, 
now,  to  catch  the  wine  of  sunrise;  and  on  the  delicately 
chiselled  face  was  a  faint  smile  which  seemed  to  hide  a  secret. 
When  the  first  ray  of  yellow  sunshine  gilded  the  big  skylight,  a 
door  up-stage  opened  and  the  sculptor  came  in,  wearing  his 
workman's  blouse.  He  regarded  his  handiwork,  as  the  cur- 
tain came  down. 

When  the  music  of  the  dream  had  ceased  and  suddenly  be- 
came ostentatiously  puerile,  the  audience  broke  into  a  tumult 
of  applause.  Women  clapped  their  hands  furiously  and  many 
men  shouted  "brava,  brava,"  hoping  that  the  curtain  might 
rise  once  more  on  the  picture;  but  it  did  not  rise,  and  Stephen 
was  glad.  The  dream  would  have  been  vulgarized  by 
repetition. 

For  fully  five  minutes  the  orchestra  played  some  gay  tune 
which  every  one  there  had  heard  a  hundred  times;  but  ab- 


36  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ruptly  it  stopped,  as  if  on  a  signal.  For  an  instant  there  was 
a  silence  of  waiting  and  suspense,  which  roused  interest  and 
piqued  curiosity.  Then  there  began  a  delicate  symphony 
which  could  mean  nothing  but  spring  in  a  forest,  and  on  that 
the  curtain  went  up.  The  prophecy  of  the  music  was  ful- 
filled, for  the  scene  was  a  woodland  in  April,  with  young  leaves 
a-flicker  and  blossoms  in  birth,  the  light  song  of  the  flutes  and 
violins  being  the  song  of  birds  in  love.  All  the  trees  were 
brocaded  with  dainty,  gold-green  lace,  and  daffodils  sprouted 
from  the  moss  at  their  feet. 

The  birds  sang  more  gaily,  and  out  from  behind  a  silver- 
trunked  beech  tree  danced  a  figure  in  spring  green.  Her 
arms  were  full  of  flowers,  which  she  scattered  as  she  danced, 
curtseying,  mocking,  beckoning  the  shadow  that  followed 
her  along  the  daisied  grass.  Her  little  feet  were  bare,  and 
flitted  through  the  green  folding  of  her  draperies  like  white 
night-moths  fluttering  among  rose  leaves.  Her  hair  fell  over 
her  shoulders,  and  curled  below  her  waist.  It  was  red  hair 
that  glittered  and  waved,  and  she  looked  a  radiant  child  of 
sixteen.  Victoria  Ray  the  dancer,  and  the  girl  on  the  Channel 
boat  were  one. 


IV 


THE  Shadow  Dance  was  even  more  beautiful  than  the 
Dance  of  the  Statue,  but  Stephen  had  lost  pleasure 
in  it.  He  was  supersensitive  in  these  days,  and  he 
felt  as  if  the  girl  had  deliberately  made  game  of  him, 
in  order  that  he  should  make  a  fool  of  himself.  Of  course  it 
was  a  pose  of  hers  to  travel  without  chaperon  or  maid,  and  dress 
like  a  school  girl  from  a  provincial  town,  in  cheap  serge,  a 
sailor  hat,  and  a  plait  of  hair  looped  up  with  ribbon.  She 
was  no  doubt  five  or  six  years  older  than  she  looked  or  ad- 
mitted, and  probably  her  manager  shrewdly  prescribed  the 
"line"  she  had  taken  up.  Young  women  on  the  stage  — 
actresses,  dancers,  or  singers,  it  didn't  matter  which  —  must 
do  something  unusual,  in  order  to  be  talked  about,  and  get  a 
good  free  advertisement.  Nowadays,  when  professionals 
vied  with  each  other  in  the  expensiveness  of  their  jewels,  the 
size  of  their  hats,  or  the  small  ness  of  their  waists,  and  the 
eccentricity  of  their  costumes,  it  was  perhaps  rather  a  new 
note  to  wear  no  jewels  at  all,  and  appear  in  ready-made  frocks 
bought  in  bargain-sales;  while,  as  for  the  young  woman's  air 
of  childlike  innocence  and  inexperience,  it  might  be  a  tribute 
to  her  cleverness  as  an  actress,  but  it  was  not  a  tribute  to  his 
intelligence  as  a  man,  that  he  should  have  been  taken  in  by 
it.  Always,  he  told  himself,  he  was  being  taken  in  by  some 
woman.  After  the  lesson  he  had  had,  he  ought  to  have  learned 
wisdom,  but  it  seemed  that  he  was  as  gullible  as  ever.  And 
it  was  this  romantic  folly  of  his  which  vexed  him  now;  not  the 
fact  that  a  simple  child  over  whose  fate  he  had  sentimental- 
ized, was  a  rich  and  popular  stage-dancer.  Miss  Ray  was 

37 


38  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

probably  a  good  enough  young  woman  according  to  her  lights, 
and  it  was  not  she  who  need  be  shamed  by  the  success  of  the 
Channel  boat  comedy. 

He  had  another  day  and  night  in  Paris,  where  he  did  more 
sightseeing  than  he  had  ever  accomplished  before  in  a  dozen 
visits,  and  then  travelled  on  to  Marseilles.  The  slight  dam- 
age to  the  Charles  Qnex  had  been  repaired,  and  at  noon  the 
ship  was  to  sail.  Stephen  went  on  board  early,  as  he  could 
think  of  nothing  else  which  he  preferred  to  do,  and  he  was 
repaid  for  his  promptness.  By  the  time  he  had  seen  his  lug- 
gage deposited  in  the  cabin  he  had  secured  for  himself  alone, 
engaged  a  deck  chair,  and  taken  a  look  over  the  ship  —  which 
was  new,  and  as  handsome  as  much  oak,  fragrant  cedar- 
wood,  gilding,  and  green  brocade  could  make  her  —  many 
other  passengers  were  coming  on  board.  Travelling  first 
class  were  several  slim  French  officers,  and  stout  Frenchmen  cf 
the  commercial  class;  a  merry  theatrical  company  going  to 
act  in  Algiers  and  Tunis;  an  English  clergyman  of  grave 
aspect;  invalids  with  their  nurses,  and  two  or  three  digni- 
fied Arabs,  evidently  of  good  birth  as  well  as  fortune.  Arab 
merchants  were  returning  from  the  Riviera,  and  a  party  of 
German  students  were  going  second  class. 

Stephen  was  interested  in  the  lively  scene  of  embarkation, 
and  glad  to  be  a  part  of  it,  though  still  more  glad  that  there 
seemed  to  be  nob6dy  on  board  whom  he  had  ever  met.  He 
admired  the  harbour,  and  the  shipping,  and  felt  pleasantly 
exhilarated.  "I  feel  very  young,  or  very  old,  I'm  not  sure 
which,"  he  said  to  himself  as  a  faint  thrill  ran  through  his 
nerves  at  the  grinding  groan  of  the  anchor,  slowly  hauled  out 
of  the  deep  green  water. 

It  was  as  if  he  heard  the  creaking  of  a  gate  which  opened 
into  an  unknown  garden,  a  garden  where  life  would  be  new 
and  changed.  Nevill  Caird  had  once  said  that  there  was 
no  sharp,  dividing  line  between  phases  of  existence,  except 
one's  own  moods,  and  Stephen  had  thought  this  true;  but 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  S9 

now  it  seemed  as  if  the  sea  which  silvered  the  distance  was 
the  dividing  line  for  him,  while  all  that  lay  beyond  the  hori- 
zon was  mysterious  as  a  desert  mirage. 

He  was  not  conscious  of  any  joy  at  starting,  yet  he  was 
excited,  as  if  something  tremendous  were  about  to  happen  to 
him.  England,  that  he  knew  so  well,  seemed  suddenly  less 
real  than  Africa,  which  he  knew  not  at  all,  and  his  senses 
were  keenly  alert  for  the  first  time  in  many  days.  He  saw 
Marseilles  from  a  new  point  of  view,  and  wondered  why  he 
had  never  read  anything  fine  written  in  praise  of  the  ancient 
Phoenician  city.  Though  he  had  not  been  in  the  East,  he 
imagined  that  the  old  part  of  the  town,  seen  from  the  sea, 
looked  Eastern,  as  if  the  traffic  between  east  and  west,  going 
on  for  thousands  of  years,  had  imported  an  Eastern  taste  in: 
architecture. 

The  huge,  mosque-like  cathedral  bubbled  with  domes, 
where  fierce  gleams  of  gold  were  hammered  out  by  strokes  of 
the  noonday  sun.  A  background  of  wild  mountain  ranges, 
whose  tortured  peaks  shone  opaline  through  long  rents  in 
mist  veils,  lent  an  air  of  romance  to  the  scene,  and  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Garde  loomed  nobly  on  her  bleached  and  arid 
height.  "Have  no  fear:  I  keep  watch  and  ward  over  land 
and  sea,"  seemed  to  say  the  majestic  figure  of  gold  on  the 
tall  tower,  and  Stephen  half  wished  he  were  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  that  he  might  take  comfort  from  the  assurance. 

As  the  Charles  Quex  steamed  farther  and  farther  away, 
the  church  on  the  mountainous  hill  appeared  to  change  in 
shape.  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde  looked  no  longer  like  a 
building  made  by  man,  but  like  a  great  sacred  swan  crowned 
with  gold,  and  nested  on  a  mountain-top.  There  she  sat, 
with  shining  head  erect  on  a  long  neck,  seated  on  her  nest, 
protecting  her  young,  and  gazing  far  across  the  sea  in  search 
of  danger.  The  sun  touched  her  golden  crown,  and  dusky 
cloud-shadows  grouped  far  beneath  her  eyrie,  like  mourners 
kneeling  below  the  height  to  pray.  The  rock-shapes  and 


40  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

island  rocks  that  cut  the  blue  glitter  of  the ',  sea,  suggested 
splendid  tales  of  Phoenician  mariners  and  Saracenic  pirates, 
tales  lost  forever  in  the  dim  mists  of  time;  and  so  Stephen 
wandered  on  to  thoughts  of  Dumas,  wishing  he  had  brought 
"Monte  Cristo,"  dearly  loved  when  he  was  twelve.  Probably 
not  a  soul  on  board  had  the  book;  people  were  so  stupid  and 
prosaic  nowadays.  He  turned  from  the  rail  on  which  he  had 
leaned  to  watch  the  fading  land,  and  as  he  did  so,  his  eyes 
fell  upon  a  bright  red  copy  of  the  book  for  which  he  had  been 
wishing.  There  was  the  name  in  large  gold  lettering  on  a 
scarlet  cover,  very  conspicuous  on  the  dark  blue  serge  lap  of 
a  girl.  It  was  the  girl  of  the  Channel  boat,  and  she  wore  the 
same  dress,  the  same  sailor  hat  tied  on  with  a  blue  veil,  which 
she  had  worn  that  night  crossing  from  England  to  France. 

While  Stephen  had  been  absorbed  in  admiration  of  Mar- 
seilles harbour,  she  had  come  up  on  deck,  and  settled  herself 
in  a  canvas  chair.  This  time  she  had  a  rug  of  her  own,  a  thin 
navy  blue  rug  which,  like  her  frock,  might  have  been  chosen 
for  its  cheapness.  Although  she  held  a  volume  of  "Monte 
Christo,"  she  was  not  reading,  and  as  Stephen  turned  towards 
her,  their  eyes  met. 

Hers  lit  up  with  a  pleased  smile,  and  the  pink  that  sprang 
to  her  cheeks  was  the  colour  of  surprise,  not  of  self -consciousness. 

"I  thought  your  back  looked  like  you,  but  I  didn't  suppose 
it  would  turn  out  to  be  you,"  she  said. 

Stephen's  slight,  unreasonable  irritation  could  not  stand 
against  the  azure  of  such  eyes,  and  the  youth  in  her  friendly 
smile.  Since  the  girl  seemed  glad  to  see  him,  why  shouldn't 
he  be  glad  to  see  her  ?  At  least  she  was  not  a  link  with  England. 

"I  thought  your  statue  looked  like  you,"  he  retorted,  stand- 
ing near  her  chair,  "but  I  didn't  suppose  it  would  turn  out 
to  be  you  until  your  shadow  followed." 

"Oh,  you  saw  me  dance!  Did  you  like  it?"  She  asked 
the  question  eagerly,  like  a  child  who  hangs  upon  grown-up 
judgment  of  its  work. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  41 

"I  thought  both  dances  extremely  beautiful  and  artistic," 
replied  Stephen,  a  little  stiffly. 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly,  as  if  puzzled.  "No,  I 
don't  think  you  did  like  them,  really,"  she  said.  "  I  oughtn't 
to  have  asked  in  that  blunt  way,  because  of  course  you  would 
hate  to  hurt  my  feelings  by  saying  no!" 

Her  manner  was  so  unlike  that  of  a  spoiled  stage  darling, 
that  Stephen  had  to  remind  himself  sharply  of  her  "innocent 
pose,"  and  his  own  soft-hearted  lack  of  discrimination  where 
pretty  women  were  concerned.  By  doing  this  he  kept  him- 
self armed  against  the  clever  little  actress  laughing  at  him 
behind  the  blue  eyes  of  a  child.  "You  must  know  that  there 
can't  be  two  opinions  of  your  dancing,"  said  he  coolly.  "You 
have  had  years  and  years  of  flattery,  of  course;  enough  to 

make  you  sick  of  it,  if  a  woman  ever "  He  stopped, 

smiling. 

"Why,  I've  been  dancing  professionally  for  only  a  few 
months!"  she  exclaimed.  "Didn't  you  know?" 

"I'm  ashamed  to  say  I  was  ignorant,"  Stephen  confessed. 
"But  before  the  dancing,  there  must  have  been  something  else 
equally  clever.  Floating  —  or  flying  —  or " 

She  laughed.  "Why  don't  you  suggest  fainting  in  coils? 
I'm  certain  you  would,  if  you'd  ever  read  'Alice.'  ' 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  brought  up  on  'Alice,'"  said 
Stephen.  "Do  children  of  the  present  day  still  go  down  the 
rabbit  hole?" 

"I'm  not  sure  about  children  of  the  present  day.  Children 
of  my  day  went  down,"  she  replied  with  dignity.  "I  loved 
Alice  dearly.  I  don't  know  much  about  other  children,  though, 
for  I  never  had  a  chance  to  make  friends  as  a  child.  But  then  I 
had  my  sister  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  so  nothing  else  mattered." 

"If  you  don't  think  me  rude  to  say  so,"  ventured  Stephen, 
"you  would  seem  to  me  a  little  girl  now,  if  I  hadn't  fo\md  out 
that  you're  an  accomplished  star  of  the  theatres,  admired  all 
over  Europe." 


42  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Now  you're  making  fun  of  me,"  said  the  dancer.  "Paris 
was  only  my  third  engagement;  and  it's  going  to  be  my  last, 
anyway  for  ever  so  long,  I  hope." 

This  time  Stephen  was  really  surprised,  and  all  his  early 
interest  in  the  young  creature  woke  again;  the  personal  sort 
of  interest  which  he  had  partly  lost  on  finding  that  she  was 
of  the  theatrical  world. 

"Oh,  I  see!"  he  ejaculated,  before  stopping  to  reflect  that 
he  had  no  right  to  put  into  words  the  idea  which  jumped  into 
his  mind. 

"You  see?"  she  echoed.  "But  how  can  you  see,  unless 
you  know  something  about  me  already?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  apologized.  "  It  was  only  a  thought. 
j » 

"A  thought  about  my  dancing?" 

"Not  exactly  that.     About  your  not  dancing  again." 

"Then  please  tell  me  the  thought." 

"You  may  be  angry.  I  rather  think  you'd  have  a  right  to 
be  angry  —  not  at  the  thought,  but  the  telling  of  it." 

"I  promise." 

"Why,"  explained  Stephen,  "when  a  young  and  successful 
actress  makes  up  her  mind  to  leave  the  stage,  what  is  the 
usual  reason?" 

"I'm  not  an  actress,  so  I  can't  imagine  what  you  mean  — 
unless  you    suppose  I've    made  a  great    fortune   in  a  few 
months  ?" 

"That  too,  perhaps — but  I  don't  think  a  fortune  would 
induce  you  to  leave  the  stage  yet  a  while.  You'd  want  to  go 
on,  not  for  the  money  perhaps,  but  for  the  fun." 

"I  haven't  been  dancing  for  fun." 

"Haven't  you?" 

"No.  I  began  with  a  purpose.  I'm  leaving  the  stage  for 
a  purpose.  And  you  say  you  can  guess  what  that  is.  If  you 
know,  you  must  have  been  told." 

"Since  you  insist,  it  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  be  going 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  43 

to  marry.  I  thought  maybe  you  were  travelling  to  Africa 
to " 

She  laughed.  "Oh,  you  are  wrong!  I  don't  believe  there 
ever  was  a  girl  who  thinks  less  about  marrying.  I've  never 
had  time  to  think  of  such  things.  I've  always  —  ever  since 
I  was  nine  years  old  —  looked  to  the  one  goal,  and  aimed  for 
it,  studied  for  it,  lived  for  it  —  at  last,  danced  towards  it." 

"You  excite  my  curiosity  immensely,"  said  Stephen.  And 
it  was  true.  The  girl  had  begun  to  take  him  out  of 
himself. 

"There  is  lunch,"  she  announced,  as  a  bugle  sounded. 

Stephen  longed  to  say,  "Don't  go  yet.  Stop  and  tell  me 
all  about  the  'goal'  you're  working  for."  But  he  dared  not. 
She  was  very  frank,  and  evidently  willing,  for  some  reason,  to 
talk  of  her  aims,  even  to  a  comparative  stranger;  yet  he 
knew  that  it  would  be  impertinent  to  suggest  her  sitting 
out  on  deck  to  chat  with  him,  while  the  other  passengers 
lunched. 

He  asked  if  she  were  hungry,  and  she  said  she  was.  So 
was  he,  now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it;  nevertheless  he  let 
her  go  in  alone,  and  waited  deliberately  for  several  minutes 
before  following.  He  would  have  liked  to  sit  by  Miss  Ray  at 
the  table,  but  wished  her  to  see  that  he  did  not  mean  to  pre- 
sume upon  any  small  right  of  acquaintanceship.  As  she  was 
on  the  stage,  and  extremely  attractive,  no  doubt  men  often 
tried  to  take  such  advantage,  and  he  didn't  intend  to  be  one 
of  them;  therefore  he  supposed  that  he  had  lost  the  chance  of 
placing  himself  near  her  in  the  dining-room.  To  his  surprise, 
however,  as  he  was  about  to  slip  into  a  far-away  chair,  she 
beckoned  from  her  table.  "I  kept  this  seat  for  you,"  she 
said.  "I  hoped  you  wouldn't  mind." 

"Mind!"  He  was  on  the  point  of  repaying  her  kindness 
with  a  conventional  little  compliment,  but  thought  better  of 
it,  and  expressed  his  meaning  in  a  smile. 

The  oak-panelled  saloon  was  provided  with  a  number    of 


44  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

small  tables,  and  at  the  one  where  Victoria  Ray  sat,  were 
places  for  four.  Three  were  already  occupied  when  Stephen 
came;  one  by  Victoria,  the  others  by  a  German  bride  and 
groom. 

At  the  next  table  were  two  French  officers  of  the  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique,  the  English  clergyman  Stephen  had  noticed  on 
deck,  and  a  remarkably  handsome  Arab,  elaborately  dressed. 
He  sat  facing  Victoria  Ray  and  Stephen  Knight,  and  Stephen 
found  it  difficult  not  to  stare  at  the  superb,  pale  brown  person 
whose  very  high  white  turban,  bound  with  light  grey  cord, 
gave  him  a  dignity  beyond  his  years,  and  whose  pale  grey 
burnous,  over  a  gold-embroidered  vest  of  dark  rose-colour, 
added  picturesqueness  which  appeared  theatrical  in  eyes 
unaccustomed  to  the  East. 

Stephen  had  never  seen  an  Arab  of  the  aristocratic  class 
until  to-day;  and  before,  only  a  few  such  specimens  as  parade 
the  Galerie  Charles  Trois  at  Monte  Carlo,  selling  prayer- 
rugs  and  draperies  from  Algeria.  This  man's  high  birth  and 
breeding  were  clear  at  first  glance.  He  was  certainly  a  per- 
sonage aware  of  his  own  attractions,  though  not  offensively 
self-conscious,  and  was  unmistakably  interested  in  the  beauty 
of  the  girl  at  the  next  table.  He  was  too  well-bred  to  make  a 
show  of  his  admiration,  but  talked  in  almost  perfect,  slightly 
guttural  French,  with  the  English  clergyman,  speaking  occa- 
sionally also  to  the  officers  in  answer  to  some  question.  He 
glanced  seldom  at  Miss  Ray,  but  when  he  did  look  across,  in 
a  guarded  way,  at  her,  there  was  a  light  of  ardent  pleasure  in 
his  eyes,  such  as  no  eyes  save  those  of  East  or  South  ever  be- 
tray. The  look  was  respectful,  despite  its  underlying  passion. 
Nevertheless,  because  the  handsome  face  was  some  shades 
darker  than  his  own,  it  offended  Stephen,  who  felt  a  sharp  bite 
of  dislike  for  the  Arab.  He  was  glad  the  man  was  not  at  the 
same  table  with  Miss  Ray,  and  knew  that  it  would  have  vexed 
him  intensely  to  see  the  girl  drawn  into  conversation.  He  won- 
dered that  the  French  officers  should  talk  with  the  Arab  as  with 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  45 

an  equal,  yet  knew  in  his  heart  that  such  prejudice  was  narrow- 
minded,  especially  at  the  moment  when  he  was  travelling  to  the 
Arab's  own  country.  He  tried,  though  not  very  strenuously,  to 
override  his  conviction  of  superiority  to  the  Eastern  man,  but 
triumphed  only  far  enough  to  admit  that  the  fellow  was  hand- 
some in  a  way.  His  skin  was  hardly  darker  than  old  ivory: 
the  aquiline  nose  delicate  as  a  woman's,  with  sensitive  nos- 
trils; and  the  black  velvet  eyes  under  arched  brows,  that  met 
in  a  thin,  pencilled  line,  were  long,  and  either  dreamy  or  calmly 
calculating.  A  prominent  chin  and  a  full  mouth,  so  deter- 
mined as  to  suggest  cruelty,  certainly  selfishness,  preserved 
the  face  from  effeminacy  at  the  sacrifice  of  artistic  perfection. 
Stephen  noticed  with  mingled  curiosity  and  disapproval  that 
the  Arab  appeared  to  be  vain  of  his  hands,  on  which  he  wore 
two  or  three  rings  that  might  have  been  bought  in  Paris,  or 
even  given  him  by  European  women  —  for  they  looked  like  a 
woman's  rings.  The  brown  fingers  were  slender,  tapering  to 
the  ends,  and  their  reddened  nails  glittered.  They  played, 
as  the  man  talked,  with  a  piece  of  bread,  and  often  he  glanced 
down  at  them,  with  the  long  eyes  which  had  a  blue  shadow 
underneath,  like  a  faint  smear  of  kohl. 

Stephen  wondered  what  Victoria  Ray  thought  of  her  vis-a- 
vis; but  in  the  presence  of  the  staring  bride  and  groom  he 
could  ask  no  questions,  and  the  expression  of  her  face,  as  once 
she  quietly  regarded  the  Arab,  told  nothing.  It  was  even 
puzzling,  as  an  expression  for  a  young  girl's  face  to  wear  in 
looking  at  a  handsome  man  so  supremely  conscious  of  sex 
and  of  his  own  attraction.  She  was  evidently  thinking  about 
him  with  considerable  interest,  and  it  annoyed  Stephen  that 
she  should  look  at  him  at  all.  An  Arab  might  misunderstand, 
not  realizing  that  he  was  a  legitimate  object  of  curiosity  for 
eyes  unused  to  Eastern  men. 

After  luncheon  Victoria  went  to  her  cabin.  This  was  dis- 
appointing. Stephen,  hoping  that  she  might  come  on  deck 
again  soon,  and  resume  their  talk  where  it  had  broken  off  in 


46  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  morning,  paced  up  and  down  until  he  felt  drowsy,  not 
having  slept  in  the  train  the  night  before.  To  his  surprise 
and  disgust,  it  was  after  five  when  he  waked  from  a  long  nap, 
in  his  stateroom;  and  going  on  deck  he  found  Miss  Ray  in 
her  chair  once  more,  this  time  apparently  deep  in  "Monte 
Cristo." 


V 


HE  WALKED  past,  and  she  looked  up  with  a  smile, 
but  did  not  ask  him  to  draw  his  chair  near  hers, 
though  there  was  a  vacant  space.  It  was  an  absurd 
and  far-fetched  idea,  but  he  could  not  help  asking 
himself  if  it  were  possible  that  she  had  picked  up  any  acquaint- 
ance on  board,  who  had  told  her  he  was  a  marked  man,  a  foolish 
fellow  who  had  spoiled  his  life  for  a  low-born,  unscrupulous 
woman's  sake.  It  was  a  morbid  fancy,  he  knew,  but  he  was 
morbid  now,  and  supposed  that  he  should  be  for  some  time  to 
come,  if  not  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  imagined  a  difference  in 
the  girl's  manner.  Maybe  she  had  read  that  hateful  interview 
in  some  paper,  when  she  was  in  London,  and  now  remem- 
bered having  seen  his  photograph  with  Margot  Lorenzi's. 
He  hated  the  thought,  not  because  he  deliberately  wished  to 
keep  his  engagement  secret,  but  because  the  newspaper  in- 
terview had  made  him  seem  a  fool,  and  somehow  he  did  not 
want  to  be  despised  by  this  dancing  girl  whom  he  should  never 
see  again  after  to-morrow.  Just  why  her  opinion  of  his  char- 
acter need  matter  to  him,  it  was  difficult  to  say,  but  there  was 
something  extraordinary  about  the  girl.  She  did  not  seem 
in  the  least  like  other  dancers  he  had  met.  He  had  not  that 
feeling  of  comfortable  comradeship  with  her  that  a  man  may 
feel  with  most  unchaperoned,  travelling  actresses,  no  matter 
how  respectable.  There  was  a  sense  of  aloofness,  as  if  she  had 
been  a  young  princess,  in  spite  of  her  simple  and  friendly 
ways. 

Since  it  appeared  that  she  had  no  intention  of  picking  up 
the  dropped  threads  of  their  conversation,  Stephen  thought  of 

47 


48  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  smoking-room;  but  his  wish  to  know  whether  she  really  had 
changed  towards  him  became  so  pressing  that  he  was  impelled 
to  speak  again.  It  was  an  impulse  unlike  himself,  at  any  rate 
the  old  self  with  which  he  was  familiar,  as  with  a  friend  or  an 
intimate  enemy. 

"I  hoped  you  would  tell  me  the  rest,"  he  blurted  out. 

"The  rest?" 

"That  you  were  beginning  to  tell." 

The  girl  blushed.  "I  was  afraid  afterwards,  you  might 
have  been  bored,  or  anyway  surprised.  You  probably  thought  it 
'very  American '  of  me  to  talk  about  my  own  affairs  to  a  stran- 
ger, and  it  isn't,  you  know.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  think 
Americans  are  less  well  brought  up  than  other  girls,  just  be- 
cause /  may  do  things  that  seem  queer.  I  have  to  do  them. 
And  I  am  quite  different  from  others.  You  mustn't  suppose 
I'm  not." 

Stephen  was  curiously  relieved.  Suddenly  he  felt  young 
and  happy,  as  he  used  to  feel  before  knowing  Margot  Lorenzi. 
"I  never  met  a  brilliantly  successful  person  who  was  as  modest 
as  you,"  he  said,  laughing  with  pleasure.  "I  was  never  less 
bored  in  my  life.  Will  you  talk  to  me  again  —  and  let  me  talk 
to  you?" 

"I  should  like  to  ask  your  advice,"  she  replied. 

That  gave  permission  for  Stephen  to  draw  his  chair  near 
to  hers.  "Have  you  had  tea?"  he  inquired,  by  way  of  a  be- 
ginning. 

"I'm  too  American  to  drink  tea  in  the  afternoon,"  she  ex- 
plained.    "It's  only  fashionable  Americans  who  take  it,  and 
I'm  not  that  kind,  as  you  can  see.     I  come  from  the  country  - 
or  almost  the  country." 

"Weren't  you  drawn  into  any  of  our  little  ways  in  London  ?" 
He  was  working  up  to  a  certain  point. 

"I  was  too  busy." 

"I'm  sure  you  weren't  too  busy  for  one  thing:  reading  the 
papers  for  your  notices." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  49 

Victoria  shook  her  head,  smiling.  "There  you're  mistaken. 
The  first  morning  after  I  danced  at  the  Palace  Theatre,  I  asked 
to  see  the  papers  they  had  in  my  boarding-house,  because  I 
hoped  so  much  that  English  people  would  like  me,  and 
I  wanted  to  be  a  success.  But  afterwards  I  didn't  bother.  I 
don't  understand  British  politics,  you  see  —  how  could  I  ?  — 
and  I  hardly  know  any  English  people,  so  I  wasn't  very  in- 
terested in  their  papers." 

Again  Stephen  was  relieved.  But  he  felt  driven  by  one  of 
his  strange  new  impulses  to  tell  her  his  name,  and  watch  her 
face  while  he  told  it. 

"'Curiouser  and  curiouser,'  as  our  friend  Alice  would  say  " 
he  laughed.  "No  newspaper  paragraphs,  and  a  boarding- 
house  instead  of  a  fashionable  hotel.  What  was  your  manager 
thinking  about?" 

"I  had  no  manager  of  my  very  own,"  said  Victoria.  "I 
'exploited'  myself.  It  costs  less  to  do  that.  When  people  in 
America  liked  my  dancing  I  got  an  offer  from  London,  and  I 
accepted  it  and  made  all  the  arrangements  about  going  over. 
It  was  quite  easy,  you  see,  because  there  were  only  costumes 
to  carry.  My  scenery  is  so  simple,  they  either  had  it  in  the 
theatres  or  got  something  painted:  and  the  statues  in  the 
studio  scene,  and  the  sculptor,  needed  very  few  rehearsals. 
In  Paris  they  had  only  one.  It  was  all  I  had  time  for,  after  I 
arrived.  The  lighting  wasn't  difficult  either,  and  though 
people  told  me  at  first  there  would  be  trouble  unless  I  had  my 
own  man,  there  never  was  any,  really.  In  my  letters  to  the 
managers  I  gave  the  dates  when  I  could  come  to  their  theatres  > 
how  long  I  could  stay,  and  all  they  must  do  to  get  things  ready. 
The  Paris  engagement  was  made  only  a  little  while  beforehand. 
I  wanted  to  pass  through  there,  so  I  was  glad  to  accept  the 
offer  and  earn  extra  money  which  I  thought  I  might  need  by 
and  by." 

"What  a  mercenary  star!"  Stephen  spoke  teasingly;  but 
in  truth  he  could  not  make  the  girl  out. 


50  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  took  the  accusation  with  a  smile.  "Yes,  I  am  mer- 
cenary, I  suppose,"  she  confessed  with  unashamed  frankness, 
"but  not  entirely  for  myself.  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  that!  I 
told  you  how  I've  been  looking  forward  always  to  one  end. 
And  now,  just  when  that  end  may  be  near,  how  foolish  I  should 
be  to  spend  a  cent  on  unnecessary  things!  Why,  I'd  have 
felt  wicked  living  in  an  expensive  hotel,  and  keeping  a  maid, 
when  I  could  be  comfortable  in  a  Bloomsbury  boarding-house 
on  ten  dollars  a  week.  And  the  dresser  in  the  theater,  who  did 
everything  very  nicely,  was  delighted  with  a  present  of  twenty 
dollars  when  my  London  engagement  was  over." 

"No  doubt  she  was,"  said  Stephen.     "But- 

"I  suppose  you're  thinking  that  I  must  have  made  lots  of 
money,  and  that  I'm  a  sort  of  little  miseress:  and  so  I  have  — 
and  so  I  am.  I  earned  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  week 
—  isn't  that  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds?  — for  the  six  weeks, 
and  I  spent  as  little  as  possible;  for  I  didn't  get  as  large  a 
salary  as  that  in  America.  I  engaged  to  dance  for  three 
hundred  dollars  a  week  there,  which  seemed  perfectly  won- 
derful to  me  at  first;  so  I  had  to  keep  my  contract,  though  other 
managers  would  have  given  me  more.  I  wanted  dreadfully 
to  take  their  offers,  because  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  have 
enough  money  to  begin  my  real  work.  But  I  knew  I  shouldn't 
be  blessed  in  my  undertaking  if  I  acted  dishonourably.  Try 
as  I  might,  I've  only  been  able  to  save  up  ten  thousand  dollars, 
counting  the  salary  in  Paris  and  all.  Would  you  say  that  was 
enough  to  bribe  a  person,  if  necessary?  Two  thousand  of 
your  pounds." 

"It  depends  upon  how  rich  the  person  is." 

"I  don't  know  how  rich  he  is.     Could  an  Arab  be  very  rich  ?  " 

"I  daresay  there  are  still  some  rich  ones.  But  maybe 
riches  aren't  the  same  with  them  as  with  us.  That  fellow 
at  lunch  to-day  looks  as  if  he'd  plenty  of  money  to  spend  on 
embroideries." 

"  Yes.     And  he  looks  important  too  —  as  if  he  might  have 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  51 

travelled,   and  known  a  great  many  people  of  all   sorts.     I 
wish  it  were  proper  for  me  to  talk  to  him." 

"Good  Heavens,  why?"  asked  Stephen,  startled.  "It 
would  be  most  improper." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  so,  and  I  won't,  of  course,  unless  I  get  to 
know  him  in  some  way,"  went  on  Victoria.  "Not  that  there's 
any  chance  of  such  a  thing." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  exclaimed  Stephen,  who  was  privately 
of  opinion  that  there  was  only  too  good  a  chance  if  the  girl 
showed  the  Arab  even  the  faintest  sign  of  willingness  to  know 
and  be  known.  "I've  no  right  to  ask  it,  of  course,  except  that 
I'm  much  older  than  you  and  have  seen  more  of  the  world  — 
but  do  promise  not  to  look  at  that  nigger.  I  don't  like  his 
face." 

"He  isn't  a  nigger,"  objected  Victoria.  "But  if  he  were, 
it  wouldn't  matter  —  nor  whether  one  liked  his  face  or  not. 
He  might  be  able  to  help  me." 

"To  help  you — in  Algiers?" 

"Yes,  in  the  same  way  that  you  might  be  able  to  help  me  — 
or  more,  because  he's  an  Arab,  and  must  know  Arabs." 

Stephen  forgot  to  press  his  request  for  her  promise.  "How 
can  I  help  you  ?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"I'm  not  sure.  Only,  you're  going  to  Algiers.  I  always 
ask  everybody  to  help,  if  there's  the  slightest  chance  they  can." 

Stephen  felt  disappointed  and  chilled.  But  she  went  on. 
"I  should  hate  you  to  think  I  gush  to  strangers,  and  tell  them 
all  my  affairs,  just  because  I'm  silly  enough  to  love  talking. 
I  must  talk  to  strangers.  I  must  get  help  where  I  can.  And 
you  were  kind  the  other  night.  Everybody  is  kind.  Do 
you  know  many  people  in  Algeria,  or  Tunisia?" 

"Only  one  man.  His  name  is  Nevill  Caird,  and  he  lives  in 
Algiers.  My  name  is  Stephen  Knight.  I've  been  wanting  U> 
tell  you  —  I  seemed  to  have  an  unfair  advantage,  knowing 
yours  ever  since  Paris." 

He  watched  her  face  almost  furtively,  but  no  change  came 


52  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

over  it,  no  cloud  in  the  blueness  of  her  candid  eyes.  The 
name  meant  nothing  to  her. 

"I'm  sorry.     It's  hardly  worth  while  my  bothering  you  then." 

Stephen  wished  to  be  bothered.  "But  Nevill  Caird  has 
lived  in  Algiers  for  eight  winters  or  so,"  he  said.  "He  knows 
everybody,  French  and  English  —  Arab  too,  very  likely,  if 
there  are  Arabs  worth  knowing." 

A  bright  colour  sprang  to  the  girl's  cheeks  and  turned  her 
extreme  prettiness  into  brilliant  beauty.  It  seemed  to  Stephen 
that  the  name  of  Ray  suited  her:  she  was  dazzling  as  sunshine. 
"Oh,  then,  I  will  tell  you  — if  you'll  listen,"  she  said. 

"If  I  had  as  many  ears  as  a  spear  of  wheat,  they'd  all  want 
to  listen."  His  voice  sounded  young  and  eager.  "Please  begin 
at  the  beginning,  as  the  children  say." 

"Shall  I  really?  But  it's  a  long  story.  It  begins  when  I 
was  eight." 

"All  the  better.     It  will  be  ten  years  long." 

"I  can  skip  lots  of  things.  When  I  was  eight,  and  my 
sister  Saidee  not  quite  eighteen,  we  were  in  Paris  with  my 
stepmother.  My  father  had  been  dead  just  a  year,  but  she  was 
out  of  mourning.  She  wasn't  old  —  only  about  thirty,  and 
handsome.  She  was  jealous  of  Saidee,  though,  because 
Saidee  was  so  much  younger  and  fresher,  and  because  Saidee 
was  beautiful  —  Oh,  you  can't  imagine  how  beautiful!" 

"Yes,  I  can,"  said  Stephen. 

"You  mean  me  to  take  that  for  a  compliment.  I  know  I'm 
quite  pretty,  but  I'm  nothing  to  Saidee.  She  was  a  great 
beauty,  though  with  the  same  colouring  I  have,  except  that  her 
eyes  were  brown,  and  her  hair  a  little  more  auburn.  People 
turned  to  look  after  her  in  the  street,  and  that  made  our  step- 
mother angry.  She  wanted  to  be  the  one  looked  at.  I  knew, 
even  then!  She  wouldn't  have  travelled  with  us,  only  father  had 
left  her  his  money,  on  condition  that  she  gave  Saidee  and  me  the 
best  of  educations,  and  allowed  us  a  thousand  dollars  a  year 
each,  from  the  time  our  schooling  was  finished  until  we  married. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  53 

She  had  a  good  deal  of  influence  over  him,  for  he  was  ill  a 
long  time,  and  she  was  his  nurse  —  that  was  the  way  they 
got  acquainted.  And  she  persuaded  him  to  leave  practically 
everything  to  her;  but  she  couldn't  prevent  his  making  some 
conditions.  There  was  one  which  she  hated.  She  was  ob- 
liged to  live  in  the  same  town  with  us;  so  when  she  wanted  to 
go  and  enjoy  herself  in  Paris  after  father  died,  she  had  to 
take  us  too.  And  she  didn't  care  to  shut  Saidee  up,  because  if 
Saidee  couldn't  be  seen,  she  couldn't  be  married;  and  of  course 
Mrs.  Ray  wanted  her  to  be  married.  Then  she  would  have  no 
bother,  and  no  money  to  pay.  I  often  heard  Saidee  say  these 
things,  because  she  told  me  everything.  She  loved  me  a  great 
deal,  and  I  adored  her.  My  middle  name  is  Cecilia,  and 
she  was  generally  called  Say;  so  she  used  to  tell  me  that  our 
secret  names  for  each  other  must  be  'Say  and  Seal.'  It  made 
me  feel  very  grown-up  to  have  her  confide  so  much  in  me :  and 
never  being  with  children  at  all,  gave  me  grown-up  thoughts." 

"Poor  child!"  said  Stephen. 

"  Oh,  I  was  very  happy.  It  was  only  after  —  but  that 
isn't  the  way  to  tell  the  story.  Our  stepmother  —  whom  we 
always  called  'Mrs.  Ray,'  never  'mother' — liked  officers, 
and  we  got  acquainted  with  a  good  many  French  ones.  They 
used  to  come  to  the  flat  where  we  lived.  Some  of  them  were 
introduced  by  our  French  governess,  whose  brother  was  in 
the  army,  but  they  brought  others,  and  Saidee  and  Mrs. 
Ray  went  to  parties  together,  though  Mrs.  Ray  hated  being 
chaperon.  If  poor  Saidee  were  admired  at  a  dinner,  or  a  dance, 
Mrs.  Ray  would  be  horrid  all  next  day,  and  say  everything 
disagreeable  she  could  think  of.  Then  Saidee  would  cry  when 
we  were  alone,  and  tell  me  she  was  so  miserable,  she  would 
have  to  marry  in  self-defence.  That  made  me  cry  too  — 
but  she  promised  to  take  me  with  her  if  she  went  away. 

"When  we  had  been  in  Paris  about  two  months,  Saidee  came 
to  bed  one  night  after  a  ball,  and  waked  me  up.  We  slept  in 
the  same  room.  She  was  excited  and  looked  like  an  angel.  I 


54  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

knew  something  had  happened.  She  told  me  she'd  met  a 
wonderful  man,  and  every  one  was  fascinated  with  him.  She 
had  heard  of  him  before,  but  this  was  the  first  time  they'd  seen 
each  other.  He  was  in  the  French  army,  she  said,  a  captain, 
and  older  than  most  of  the  men  she  knew  best,  but  very  hand- 
some, and  rich  as  well  as  clever.  It  was  only  at  the  last,  after 
she'd  praised  the  man  a  great  deal,  that  she  mentioned  his 
having  Arab  blood.  Even  then  she  hurried  on  to  say  his 
mother  was  a  Spanish  woman,  and  he  had  been  partly  educated 
in  France,  and  spoke  perfect  French,  and  English  too.  They 
had  danced  together,  and  Saidee  had  never  met  so  interesting  a 
man.  She  thought  he  was  like  the  hero  of  some  romance; 
and  she  told  me  I  would  see  him,  because  he'd  begged  Mrs. 
Ray  to  be  allowed  to  call.  He  had  asked  Saidee  lots  of  ques- 
tions, and  she'd  told  him  even  about  me  —  so  he  sent  me  his 
love.  She  seemed  to  think  I  ought  to  be  pleased,  but  I  wasn't. 
I'd  read  the  'Arabian  Nights,'  with  pictures,  and  I  knew  Arabs 
were  dark  people.  I  didn't  look  down  on  them  particularly, 
but  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  Say  interested  in  an  Arab.  It 
didn't  seem  right  for  her,  somehow." 

The  girl  stopped,  and  apparently  forgot  to  go  on.  She  had 
been  speaking  with  short  pauses,  as  if  she  hardly  realized  that 
she  was  talking  aloud.  Her  eyebrows  drew  together,  and  she 
sighed.  Stephen  knew  that  some  memory  pressed  heavily 
upon  her,  but  soon  she  began  again. 

"  He  came  next  day.  He  was  handsome,  as  Saidee  had  said 
—  as  handsome  as  the  Arab  on  board  this  ship,  but  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  He  looked  noble  and  haughty  —  yet  as  if  he  might 
be  very  selfish  and  hard.  Perhaps  he  was  about  thirty-three 
or  four,  and  that  seemed  old  to  me  then  —  old  even  to  Saidee. 
But  she  was  fascinated.  He  came  often,  and  she  saw  him  at 
other  houses.  Everywhere  she  was  going,  he  would  find  out, 
and  go  too.  That  pleased  her  —  for  he  was  an  important 
man  somehow,  and  of  good  birth.  Besides,  he  was  desper- 
atelv  in  love  —  even  a  child  could  see  that.  He  never  took  hia 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  55 

eyes  off  Saidee's  face  when  she  was  with  him.  It  was  as  if  he 
could  eat  her  up;  and  if  she  flirted  a  little  with  the  real  French 
officers,  to  amuse  herself  or  tease  him,  it  drove  him  half  mad. 
She  liked  that  —  it  was  exciting,  she  used  to  say.  And  I  forgot 
to  tell  you,  he  wore  European  dress,  except  for  a  fez  - 
no  turban,  like  this  man's  on  the  boat,  or  I'm  sure  she  couldn't 
have  cared  for  him  in  the  way  she  did  —  he  wouldn't  have 
seemed  possible,  for  a  Christian  girl.  A  man  in  a  turban  1 
You  understand,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  Stephen  said.  He  understood,  too, 
how  violently  such  beauty  as  the  girl  described  must  have 
appealed  to  the  dark  man  of  the  East.  "The  same  colouring 
that  I  have,"  Victoria  Ray  had  said.  If  he,  an  Englishman, 
accustomed  to  the  fair  loveliness  of  his  countrywomen,  were  a 
little  dazzled  by  the  radiance  of  this  girl,  what  compelling  in- 
fluence must  not  the  more  beautiful  sister  have  exercised  upon 
the  Arab  ? 

"He  made  love  to  Saidee  in  a  fierce  sort  of  way  that  carried 
her  off  her  feet,"  went  on  Victoria.  "She  used  to  tell  me 
things  he  said,  and  Mrs.  Ray  did  all  she  could  to  throw  them 
together,  because  he  was  rich,  and  lived  a  long  way  off  —  so 
she  wouldn't  have  to  do  anything  for  Say  if  they  were  married, 
or  even  see  her  again.  He  was  only  on  leave  in  Paris.  He 
was  a  Spahi,  stationed  in  Algiers,  and  he  owned  a  house  there." 

"Ah,  in  Algiers!"  Stephen  began  to  see  light — rather  a 
lurid  light. 

"Yes.  His  name  was  Cassim  ben  Halim  el  Cheikh  el  Arab. 
Before  he  had  known  Saidee  two  weeks,  he  proposed.  She 
took  a  little  while  to  think  it  over,  and  I  begged  her  to  say  'no* 
—  but  one  day  when  Mrs.  Ray  had  been  crosser  and  more  hor- 
rid than  usual,  she  said  'yes'.  Cassim  ben  Halim  was  Mo- 
hammedan, of  course,  but  he  and  Saidee  were  married  according 
to  French  law.  They  didn't  go  to  church,  because  he  couldn't 
do  that  without  showing  disrespect  to  his  own  religion,  but  he 
promised  he'd  not  try  to  change  hers.  Altogether  it  seemed  to 


56  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Saidee  that  there  was  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't  be  as 
happy  as  a  Catholic  girl  marrying  a  Protestant  —  or  vice 
versa;  and  she  hadn't  any  very  strong  convictions.  She  was  a 
Christian,  but  she  wasn't  fond  of  going  to  church." 

"And  her  promise  that  she'd  take  you  away  with  her?" 
Stephen  reminded  the  girl. 

"She  would  have  kept  it,  if  Mrs.  Ray  had  consented  — 
though  I'm  sure  Cassim  didn't  want  me,  and  only  agreed  to  do 
what  Saidee  asked  because  he  was  so  deep  in  love,  and  feared 
to  lose  my  sister  if  he  refused  her  anything.  But  Mrs.  Ray 
was  afraid  to  let  me  go,  on  account  of  the  condition  in  father's 
will  that  she  should  keep  me  near  her  while  I  was  being  edu- 
cated. There  was  an  old  friend  of  father's  who'd  threatened 
to  try  and  upset  the  will,  for  Saidee's  sake  and  mine,  so  I 
suppose  she  thought  he  might  succeed  if  she  disobeyed  father's 
instructions.  It  ended  in  Saidee  and  her  husband  going  to 
Algiers  without  me,  and  Saidee  cried  —  but  she  couldn't  help 
being  happy,  because  she  was  in  love,  and  very  excited  about 
the  strange  new  life,  which  Cassim  told  her  would  be  wonder- 
ful as  some  gorgeous  dream  of  fairyland.  He  gave  her  quan- 
tities of  jewellery,  and  said  they  were  nothing  to  what  she  should 
have  when  she  was  in  her  own  home  with  him.  She  should 
be  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  diamonds  and  pearls,  rubies 
and  emeralds,  if  she  liked;  and  of  course  she  would  like,  for 
she  loved  jewels,  poor  darling." 

"Why  do  you  say  'poor?'"  asked  Stephen.  "Are  you 
going  to  tell  me  the  marriage  wasn't  a  success  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  the  girl.  "I  don't  know  any 
more  about  her  than  if  Cassim  ben  Halim  had  really  carried 
my  sister  off  to  fairyland,  and  shut  the  door  behind  them. 
You  see,  I  was  only  eight  years  old.  I  couldn't  make  my 
own  life.  After  Saidee  was  married  and  taken  to  Algiers, 
my  stepmother  began  to  imagine  herself  in  love  with  an  Ameri- 
can from  Indiana,  whom  she  met  in  Paris.  He  had  an  im- 
pressive sort  of  manner,  and  made  her  think  him  rich  and  im- 


57 

portant.  He  was  in  business,  and  had  come  over  to  rest,  so 
he  couldn't  stay  long  abroad;  and  he  urged  Mrs.  Ray  to  go 
back  to  America  on  the  same  ship  with  him.  Of  course  she 
took  me,  and  this  Mr.  Henry  Potter  told  her  about  a  boarding- 
school  where  they  taught  quite  little  girls,  not  far  from  the 
town  where  he  lived.  It  had  been  a  farmhouse  once,  and  he 
said  there  were  'good  teachers  and  good  air/  I  can  hear  him 
saying  it  now.  It  was  easy  to  persuade  her;  and  she  engaged 
rooms  at  a  hotel  in  the  town  near  by,  which  was  called  Potters- 
ton,  after  Mr.  Potter's  grandfather.  By  and  by  they  were 
married,  but  their  marriage  made  no  difference  to  me.  It 
wasn't  a  bad  little  old-fashioned  school,  and  I  was  as  happy  as  I 
could  be  anywhere,  parted  from  Saidee.  There  was  an  attic 
where  I  used  to  be  allowed  to  sit  on  Saturdays,  and  think 
thoughts,  and  write  letters  to  my  sister;  and  there  was  one 
corner,  where  the  sunlight  came  in  through  a  tiny  window  shap- 
ed like  a  crescent,  without  any  glass,  which  I  named  Algiers. 
I  played  that  I  went  there  to  visit  Saidee  in  the  old  Arab  palace 
she  wrote  me  about.  It  was  a  splendid  play  —  but  I  felt 
lonely  when  I  stopped  playing  it.  I  used  to  dance  there,  too, 
very  softly  in  stockinged  feet,  so  nobody  could  hear  —  dances 
she  and  I  made  up  together  out  of  stories  she  used  to  tell  me. 
The  Shadow  Dance  and  the  Statue  Dance  which  you  saw,  came 
out  of  those  stories,  and  there  are  more  you  didn't  see,  which 
I  do  sometimes  —  a  butterfly  dance,  the  dance  of  the  wheat, 
and  two  of  the  East,  which  were  in  stories  she  told  me  after 
we  knew  Cassim  ben  Halim.  They  are  the  dance  of  the 
smoke  wreath,  and  the  dance  of  the  jewel-and-the-rose.  I 
could  dance  quite  well  even  in  those  days,  because  I  loved 
doing  it.  It  came  as  natural  to  dance  as  to  breathe,  and  Saidee 
had  always  encouraged  me,  so  when  I  was  left  alone  it  made 
me  think  of  her,  to  dance  the  dances  of  her  stories. 

"What  about  your  teachers  ?  Did  they  never  find  you  out  ?" 
asked  Stephen. 

*'Yes.     One  of  the  young  teachers  did  at  last.     Not  in  the 


58  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

attic,  but  when  I  was  dancing  for  the  big  girls  in  their  dor- 
mitory, at  night  —  they'd  wake  me  up  to  get  me  to  dance.  But 
she  wasn't  much  older  than  the  biggest  of  the  big  girls,  so  she 
laughed  —  I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  quaint  dancing  in  my 
nighty,  with  my  long  red  hair.  And  though  we  were  all  scolded 
afterwards,  I  was  made  to  dance  sometimes  at  the  entertain- 
ments we  gave  when  school  broke  up  in  the  summer.  I  was 
the  youngest  scholar,  you  see,  and  stayed  through  the  vaca- 
tions, so  I  was  a  kind  of  pet  for  the  teachers.  They  were  of  one 
family,  aunts  and  nieces  —  Southern  people,  and  of  course 
good-natured.  But  all  this  isn't  really  in  the  story  I  want  t& 
tell  you.  The  interesting  part's  about  Saidee.  For  months 
I  got  letters  from  her,  written  from  Algiers.  At  first  they  were 
like  fairy  tales,  but  by  and  by  —  quite  soon  —  they  stopped 
telling  much  about  herself.  It  seemed  as  if  Saidee  were  grow- 
ing more  and  more  reserved,  or  else  as  if  she  were  tired  of 
writing  to  me,  and  bored  by  it  —  almost  as  if  she  could  hardly 
think  of  anything  to  say.  Then  the  letters  stopped  altogether. 
I  wrote  and  wrote,  but  no  answer  came  —  no  answer  ever  came." 

"You've  never  heard  from  your  sister  since  then?"  The 
thing  appeared  incredible  to  Stephen. 

"Never.  Now  you  can  guess  what  I've  been  growing  up  for, 
living  for,  all  these  years.  To  find  her." 

"But  surely,"  Stephen  argued,  "there  must  have  been  some 
way  to " 

"Not  any  way  that  was  in  my  power,  till  now.  You  see  I 
was  helpless.  I  had  no  money,  and  I  was  a  child.  I'm  not 
very  old  yet,  but  I'm  older  than  my  years,  because  I  had  this 
thing  to  do.  There  I  was,  at  a  farmhouse  school  in  the  country, 
two  miles  out  of  Potterston  —  and  you  would  think  Potterston 
itself  not  much  better  than  the  backwoods,  I'm  sure.  When 
I  was  fourteen,  my  stepmother  died  suddenly  —  leaving  all 
the  money  which  came  from  my  father  to  her  husband,  except 
several  thousand  dollars  to  finish  my  education  and  give  me  a 
start  in  life;  but  Mr.  Potter  lost  everything  of  his  own  and  of 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  59 

mine  too,  in  some  wild  speculation  about  which  the  people 
in  that  part  of  Indiana  went  mad.  The  crash  came  a  year 
ago,  and  the  Misses  Jennings,  who  kept  the  school,  asked  me 
to  stay  on  as  an  under  teacher  —  they  were  sorry  for  me,  and 
so  kind.  But  even  if  nothing  had  happened,  I  should  have 
left  then,  for  I  felt  old  enough  to  set  about  my  real  work. 
Oh,  I  see  you  think  I  might  have  got  at  my  sister  before,  some- 
how, but  I  couldn't,  indeed.  I  tried  everything.  Not  only  did 
I  write  and  write,  but  I  begged  the  Misses  Jennings  to  help,  and 
the  minister  of  the  church  where  we  went  on  Sundays.  The 
Misses  Jennings  told  the  girls'  parents  and  relations  whenever 
they  came  to  visit,  and  they  all  promised,  if  they  ever  went  to 
Algiers,  they  would  look  for  my  sister's  husband,  Captain 
Cassim  ben  Halim,  of  the  Spahis.  But  they  weren't  the  sort  of 
people  who  ever  do  go  such  journeys.  And  the  minister  wrote 
to  the  American  Consul  in  Algiers  for  me,  but  the  only  answer 
was  that  Cassim  ben  Halim  had  disappeared.  It  seemed  not 
even  to  be  known  that  he  had  an  American  wife." 

"Your  stepmother  ought  to  have  gone  herself,"  said  Stephen. 

"Oh  —  ought!  I  very  seldom  saw  my  stepmother  after 
she  married  Mr.  Potter.  Though  she  lived  so  near,  she 
never  asked  me  to  her  house,  and  only  came  to  call  at  the 
school  once  or  twice  a  year,  for  form's  sake.  But  I  ran  away  one 
evening  and  begged  her  to  go  and  find  Saidee.  She  said  it 
was  nonsense;  that  if  Saidee  hadn't  wanted  to  drop  us,  she 
would  have  kept  on  writing,  or  else  she  was  dead.  But  don't 
you  think  I  should  have  known  if  Saidee  were  dead  ?" 

"By  instinct,  you  mean  —  telepathy,  or  something  of  that 
sort?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  mean,  but  /  should  have  known.  I 
should  have  felt  her  death,  like  a  string  snapping  in  my  heart. 
Instead,  I  heard  her  calling  to  me  —  I  hear  her  always.  She 
wants  me.  She  needs  me.  I  know  it,  and  nothing  could  make 
me  believe  otherwise.  So  now  you  understand  how,  if  anything 
were  to  be  done,  I  had  to  do  it  myself.  When  I  was  quite 


60  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

little,  I  thought  by  the  time  I  should  be  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
and  allowed  to  leave  school  —  or  old  enough  to  run  away  if 
necessary  —  I'd  have  a  little  money  of  my  own.  But  when 
my  stepmother  died  I  felt  sure  I  should  never,  never  get  any- 
thing from  Mr.  Potter." 

"But  that  old  friend  you  spoke  of,  who  wanted  to  upset  the 
will?  Couldn't  he  have  done  anything?"  Stephen  asked. 

"If  he  had  lived,  everything  might  have  been  different;  buf 
he  was  a  very  old  man,  and  he  died  of  pneumonia  soon  after 
Saidee  married  Cassim  ben  Halim.  There  was  no  one  else 
to  help.  So  from  the  time  I  was  fourteen,  I  knew  that  some- 
how I  must  make  money.  Without  money  I  could  never  hope 
to  get  to  Algiers  and  find  Saidee.  Even  though  she  had  dis- 
appeared from  there,  it  seemed  to  me  that  Algiers  would  be 
the  place  to  begin  my  search.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Yes,  Algiers  is  the  place  to  begin,"  Stephen  echoed.  "There 
ought  to  be  a  way  of  tracking  her.  Some  one  must  know 
what  became  of  a  more  or  less  important  man  such  as  your 
brother-in-law  seems  to  have  been.  It's  incredible  that  he 
should  have  been  able  to  vanish  without  leaving  any  trace." 

"He  must  have  left  a  trace,  and  though  nobody  else,  so 
far,  has  found  it,  I  shall  find  it,"  said  the  girl.  "I  did  what  I 
could  before.  I  asked  everybody  to  help;  and  when  I  got  to 
New  York  last  year,  I  used  to  go  to  Cook's  office,  to  inquire 
for  people  travelling  to  Algiers.  Then,  if  I  met  any,  I  would 
at  once  speak  of  my  sister,  and  give  them  my  address,  to  let 
me  know  if  they  should  discover  anything.  They  always 
seemed  interested,  and  said  they  would  really  do  their  best,  but 
they  must  have  failed,  or  else  they  forgot.  No  news  ever 
came  back.  It  will  be  different  with  me  now,  though.  I 
shall  find  Saidee,  and  if  she  isn't  happy,  I  shall  bring  her  away 
with  me.  If  her  husband  is  a  bad  man,  and  if  the  reason  he  left 
Algiers  is  because  he  lost  his  money,  as  I  sometimes  think,  I 
may  have  to  bribe  him  to  let  her  go.  But  I  have  money  enough 
for  everything,  I  hope  —  unless  he's  very  greedy,  or  there  are 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  61 

difficulties  I  can't  foresee.  In  that  case,  I  shall  dance  again, 
and  make  more  money,  you  know  —  that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"One  thing  I  do  know,  is  that  you  are  wonderful,"  said 
Stephen,  his  conscience  pricking  him  because  of  certain  un- 
just thoughts  concerning  this  child  which  he  had  harboured 
since  learning  that  she  was  a  dancer.  "You're  the  most  won- 
derful girl  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of." 

She  laughed  happily.  "Oh  no,  I'm  not  wonderful  at  all. 
It's  funny  you  should  think  so.  Perhaps  none  of  the  girls 
you  know  have  had  a  big  work  to  do." 

"I'm  sure  they  never  have,"  said  Stephen,  "and  if  they 
had,  they  wouldn't  have  done  it." 

"Yes,  they  would.  Anybody  would  —  that  is,  if  they  wanted 
to,  enough.  You  can  always  do  what  you  want  to  enough. 
I  wanted  to  do  this  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  so  I  knew  I 
should  find  the  way.  I  just  followed  my  instinct,  when  people 
told  me  I  was  unreasonable,  and  of  course  it  led  me  right. 
Reason  is  only  to  depend  on  in  scientific  sorts  of  things,  isn't 
it  ?  The  other  is  higher,  because  instinct  is  your  You." 

"Isn't  that  what  people  say  who  preach  New  Thought, 
or  whatever  they  call  it?"  asked  Stephen.  "A  lot  of  women 
I  know  had  rather  a  craze  about  that  two  or  three  years  ago. 
They  went  to  lectures  given  by  an  American  man  they  raved 
over  —  said  he  was  'too  fascinating.'  And  they  used  their 
'science'  to  win  at  bridge.  I  don't  know  whether  it  worked 
or  not." 

"I  never  heard  any  one  talk  of  New  Thought,"  said  Vic- 
toria. "I've  just  had  my  own  thoughts  about  everything. 
The  attic  at  school  was  a  lovely  place  to  think  thoughts  in. 
Wonderful  ones  always  came  to  me,  if  I  called  to  them  — 
thoughts  all  glittering  —  like  angels.  They  seemed  to  bring 
me  new  ideas  about  things  I'd  been  born  knowing  —  beauti- 
ful things,  which  I  feel  somehow  have  been  handed  down  to 
me  —  in  my  blood." 

"Why,  that's  the  way  my  friends  used  to  talk  about  'wak- 


62  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ing  their  race-consciousness.'  But  it  only  led  to  dribge,  with 
them." 

"Well,  it's  led  me  from  Potterston  here,"  said  Victoria, 
"and  it  will  lead  me  on  to  the  end,  wherever  that  may  be, 
I'm  sure.  Perhaps  it  will  lead  me  far,  far  off,  into  that  mys- 
terious golden  silence,  where  in  dreams  I  often  see  Saidee 
watching  for  me:  the  strangest  dream-place,  and  I've  no 
idea  where  it  is!  But  I  shall  find  out,  if  she  is  really  there." 

"What  supreme  confidence  you  have  in  your  star!"  Stephen 
exclaimed,  admiringly,  and  half  enviously. 

"Of  course.     Haven't  you,  in  yours?" 

"I  have  no  star." 

She  turned  her  eyes  to  his,  quickly,  as  if  grieved.  And 
in  his  eyes  she  saw  the  shadow  of  hopelessness  which  was 
there  to  see,  and  could  not  be  hidden  from  a  clear  gaze. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said  simply.  "I  don't  know  how  I  could 
have  lived  without  mine.  I  walk  in  its  light,  as  if  in  a  path. 
But  yours  must  be  somewhere  in  the  sky,  and  you  can  find 
it  if  you  want  to  very  much." 

He  could  have  found  two  in  her  eyes  just  then,  but  such 
stars  were  not  for  him.  "Perhaps  I  don't  deserve  a  star," 
he  said. 

"I'm  sure  you  do.  You  are  the  kind  that  does,"  the  girl 
comforted  him.  "Do  have  a  star!" 

"It  would  only  make  me  unhappy,  because  I  mightn't 
be  able  to  walk  in  its  light,  as  you  do." 

"It  would  make  you  very  happy,  as  mine  does  me.  I'm 
always  happy,  because  the  light  helps  me  to  do  things.  It 
helped  me  to  dance:  it  helped  me  to  succeed." 

"Tell  me  about  your  dancing,"  said  Stephen,  vaguely 
anxious  to  change  the  subject,  and  escape  from  thoughts  of 
Margot,  the  only  star  of  his  future.  "I  should  like  to  hear 
how  you  began,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"That's  kind  of  you,"  replied  Victoria,  gratefully. 

He  laughed.     "Kind!" 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  63 

"  Why,  it's  nothing  of  a  story.  Luckily,  I'd  always  danced. 
So  when  I  was  fourteen,  and  began  to  think  I  should  never 
have  any  money  of  my  own  after  all,  I  saw  that  dancing  would 
be  my  best  way  of  earning  it,  as  that  was  the  one  thing  I  could 
do  very  well.  Afterwards  I  worked  in  real  earnest  —  al- 
ways up  in  the  attic,  where  I  used  to  study  the  Arabic  language 
too;  study  it  very  hard.  And  no  one  knew  what  I  was  do- 
ing or  what  was  in  my  head,  till  last  year  when  I  told  the 
oldest  Miss  Jennings  that  I  couldn't  be  a  teacher  —  that 
I  must  leave  school  and  go  to  New  York." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  said  I  was  crazy.  So  did  they  all.  They  got  the 
minister  to  come  and  argue  with  me,  and  he  was  dreadfully 
opposed  to  my  wishes  at  first.  But  after  we'd  talked  a  while, 
he  came  round  to  my  way." 

"How  did  you  persuade  him  to  that  point  of  view?"  Ste- 
phen catechized  her,  wondering  always. 

"I  hardly  know.  I  just  told  him  how  I  felt  about  every- 
thing. Oh,  and  I  danced." 

"By  Jove!     What  effect  had  that  on  him?" 

"He  clapped  his  hands  and  said  it  was  a  good  dance,  quite 
different  from  what  he  expected.  He  didn't  think  it  would 
do  any  one  harm  to  see.  And  he  gave  me  a  sort  of  lecture 
about  how  I  ought  to  behave  if  I  became  a  dancer.  It  was 
easy  to  follow  his  advice,  because  none  of  the  bad  things  he 
feared  might  happen  to  me  ever  did." 

"Your  star  protected  you  ?" 

"Of  course.  There  was  a  little  trouble  about  money  at 
first,  because  I  hadn't  any,  but  I  had  a  few  things  —  a  watch 
that  had  been  my  mother's,  and  her  engagement  ring  (they 
were  Saidee's,  but  she  left  them  both  for  me  when  she  went 
away),  and  a  queer  kind  of  brooch  Cassim  ben  Halim  gave  me 
one  day,  out  of  a  lovely  mother-o'-pearl  box  he  brought  full 
of  jewels  for  Saidee,  when  they  were  engaged.  See,  I  have  the 
brooch  on  now  —  for  I  wouldn't  sell  the  things.  I  went  to 


64  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

a  shop  in  Potterston  and  asked    the   man   to   lend    me   fifty 
dollars  on  them  all,  so  he  did.     It  was  very  good  of  him." 

"You  seem  to  consider  everybody  you  meet  kind  and  good,'* 
Stephen  said. 

"Yes,  they  almost  always  have  been  so  to  me.  If  you 
believe  people  are  going  to  be  good,  it  makes  them  good,  un- 
less they're  very  bad  indeed." 

"Perhaps."  Stephen  would  not  for  a  great  deal  have 
tried  to  undermine  her  confidence  in  her  fellow  beings,  and 
such  was  the  power  of  the  girl's  personality,  that  for  the  mo- 
ment he  was  half  inclined  to  feel  she  might  be  right.  Who 
could  tell?  Maybe  he  had  not  "believed"  enough  —  in 
Margot.  He  looked  with  interest  at  the  brooch  of  which 
Miss  Ray  spoke,  a  curiously  wrought,  flattened  ring  of  dull 
gold,  with  a  pin  in  the  middle  which  pierced  and  fastened 
her  chiffon  veil  on  her  breast.  Round  the  edge,  irregularly 
shaped  pearls  alternated  with  roughly  cut  emeralds,  and 
there  was  a  barbaric  beauty  in  both  workmanship  and  colour. 

"What  happened  when  you  got  to  your  journey's  end?" 
he  went  on,  fearing  to  go  astray  on  that  subject  of  the  world's 
goodness,  which  was  a  sore  point  with  him  lately.  "Did 
you  know  anybody  in  New  York  ?" 

"Nobody.  But  I  asked  the  driver  of  a  cab  if  he  could  take 
me  to  a  respectable  theatrical  boarding-house,  and  he  said 
he  couid,  so  I  told  him  to  drive  me  there.  I  engaged  a  wee 
back  room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  paid  a  week  in  ad- 
vance. The  boarders  weren't  very  successful  people,  poor 
things,  for  it  was  a  cheap  boarding-house  —  it  had  to  be, 
for  me.  But  they  all  knew  which  were  the  best  theatres  and 
managers,  and  they  were  interested  when  they  heard  I'd 
come  to  try  and  get  a  chance  to  be  a  dancer.  They  were 
afraid  it  wasn't  much  use,  but  the  same  evening  they  changed 
their  minds,  and  gave  me  lots  of  good  advice." 

"You  danced  for  them?" 

"Yes,  in  such  a  stuffy  parlour,  smelling  of  gas  and  dust 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  65 

and  there  were  holes  in  the  carpet  it  was  difficult  not  to  step 
into.  A  dear  old  man  without  any  hair,  who  was  on  what  he 
called  the  'Variety  Stage,'  advised  me  to  go  and  try  to  see 
Mr.  Charles  Norman,  a  fearfully  important  person  —  so 
important  that  even  I  had  heard  of  him,  away  out  in  Indiana. 
I  did  try,  day  after  day,  but  he  was  too  important  to  be  got 
at.  I  wouldn't  be  discouraged,  though.  I  knew  Mr.  Nor- 
man must  come  to  the  theatre  sometimes,  so  I  bought  a  photo- 
graph in  order  to  recognize  him;  and  one  day  when  he  passed 
me,  going  in,  I  screwed  up  my  courage  and  spoke.  I  said 
I'd  been  waiting  for  days  and  days.  At  first  he  scowled,  and 
I  think  meant  to  be  cross,  but  when  he'd  given  me  one  long, 
terrifying  glare,  he  grumbled  out:  "Come  along  with  me, 
then.  I'll  soon  see  what  you  can  do."  I  went  in,  and  danced 
on  an  almost  dark  stage,  with  Mr.  Norman  and  another  man 
looking  at  me,  in  the  empty  theatre  where  all  the  chairs  and 
boxes  were  covered  up  with  sheets.  They  seemed  rather 
pleased  with  my  dancing,  and  Mr.  Norman  said  he  would 
give  me  a  chance.  Then,  if  I  'caught  on' — he  meant  if 
people  liked  me  —  I  should  have  a  salary.  But  I  told  him 
I  must  have  the  salary  at  once,  as  my  money  would  only  last 
a  few  more  days.  I'd  spent  nearly  all  I  had,  getting  to  New 
York.  Very  well,  said  he,  I  should  have  thirty  dollars  a  week 
to  begin  with,  and  after  that,  we'd  see  what  we'd  see.  Well, 
people  did  like  my  dances,  and  by  and  by  Mr.  Norman  gave 
me  what  seemed  then  a  splendid  salary.  So  now  you  know 
everything  that's  happened;  and  please  don't  think  I'd  have 
worried  you  by  talking  so  much  about  myself,  if  you  hadn't 
asked  questions.  I'm  afraid  I  oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  any- 
way." 

Her  tone  changed,  and  became  almost  apologetic.  She 
stirred  uneasily  in  her  deck  chair,  and  looked  about  half  dazed- 
ly, as  people  look  about  a  room  that  is  new  to  them,  on  waking 
there  for  the  first  time.  "Why,  it's  grown  dark!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 


66  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

This  fact  surprised  Stephen  equally.  "So  it  has,"  he  said. 
"  By  Jove,  I  was  so  interested  in  you  —  in  what  you  were 
telling — I  hadn't  noticed.  I'd  forgotten  where  we  were." 

"I'd  forgotten,  too,"  said  Victoria.  "I  always  do  forget 
outside  things  when  I  think  about  Saidee,  and  the  golden 
dream-silence  where  I  see  her.  All  the  people  who  were  near 
us  on  deck  have  gone  away.  Did  you  see  them  go  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Stephen,  "I  didn't." 

"How  odd!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"Do  you  think  so?  You  had  taken  me  to  the  golden 
silence  with  you." 

"Where  can  everybody  be?"  She  spoke  anxiously.  "Is  it 
late  ?  Maybe  they've  gone  to  get  ready  for  dinner. " 

From  a  small  bag  she  wore  at  her  belt,  American  tourist- 
fashion,  she  pulled  out  an  old-fashioned  gold  watch  of  the 
kind  that  winds  up  with  a  key  —  her  mother's,  perhaps,  on 
which  she  had  borrowed  money  to  reach  New  York.  "Some- 
thing must  be  wrong  with  my  watch,"  she  said.  "It  can't 
be  twenty  minutes  past  eight." 

The  same  thing  was  wrong  with  Stephen's  expensive  re- 
peater, whose  splendour  he  was  ashamed  to  flaunt  beside  the 
modesty  of  the  girl's  poor  little  timepiece.  There  remained 
now  no  reasonable  doubt  that  it  was  indeed  twenty  minutes 
past  eight,  since  by  the  mouths  of  two  witnesses  a  truth  can 
be  established. 

"How  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Victoria,  mortified.  "I've 
kept  you  here  all  this  time,  listening  to  me." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  rather  listen  to  you  than  anything 
else?  Eating  was  certainly  not  excepted.  I  don't  remem- 
ber hearing  the  bugle." 

"And  I  didn't  hear  it." 

"I'd  forgotten  dinner.  You  had  carried  me  so  far  away 
with  you." 

"And  Saidee,"  added  the  girl.  "Thank  you  for  going  with  us." 

"Thank  you  for  taking  me." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  67 

They  both  laughed,  and  as  they  laughed,  people  began 
streaming  out  on  deck.  Dinner  was  over.  The  handsome 
Arab  passed,  talking  with  the  spare,  loose-limbed  English 
parson,  whom  he  had  fascinated.  They  were  discussing 
affairs  in  Morocco,  and  as  they  passed  Stephen  and  Victoria, 
the  Arab  did  not  appear  to  turn;  yet  Stephen  knew  that  he 
was  thinking  of  them  and  not  of  what  he  was  saying  to  the 
clergyman. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Victoria. 

Stephen  reflected  for  an  instant.  "Will  you  invite  me  to 
dine  at  your  table?"  he  asked. 

"Maybe  they'll  tell  us  it's  too  late  now  to  have  anything 
to  eat.  I  don't  mind  for  myself,  but  for  you " 

"We'll  have  a  better  dinner  than  the  others  have  had," 
Stephen  prophesied.  "I  guarantee  it,  if  you  invite  me." 

"Oh,  do  please  come,"  she  implored,  like  a  child.  "I 
couldn't  face  the  waiters  alone.  And  you  know,  I  feel  as  if 
you  were  a  friend,  now  —  though  you  may  laugh  at  that." 

"It's  the  best  compliment  I  ever  had,"  said  Stephen.  "And 
—  it  gives  me  faith  in  myself  — whick  I  need." 

"And  your  star,  which  you're  to  find,"  the  girl  reminded  him, 
as  he  unrolled  her  from  her  rug. 

"I  wish  you'd  lend  me  a  little  of  the  light  from  yours,  to 
find  mine  by,"  he  said  half  gaily,  yet  with  a  certain  wistful- 
ness  which  she  detected  under  the  laugh. 

"I  will,"  she  said  quickly.     "Not  a  little,  but  half." 


VI 


STEPHEN'S  prophecy  came  true.     They  had  a  better 
dinner  than  any  one  else  had,  and  enjoyed  it  as  an 
adventure.    Victoria  thought  their  waiter  a  particu- 
larly good-natured  man,  because  instead    of    sulking 
over   his    duties    he    beamed.       Stephen    might,    if    he  had 
chosen,  have  thrown  another  light  upon  the  waiter's  smiles; 
but  he  didn't  choose.     And  he  was  happy.     He  gave  Victoria 
good   advice,  and  promised  help  from  Nevill  Caird.     "He's 
sure   to   meet   me   at   the   ship,"  he  said,  "and  if  you'll  let 
me,  I'll  introduce  him  to  you.     He  may  be  able  to  find  out 
everything  you  want  to  know." 

Stephen  would  have  liked  to  go  on  talking  after  dinner, 
but  the  girl,  ashamed  of  having  taken  up  so  much  of  his  time, 
would  not  be  tempted.  She  went  to  her  cabin,  and  thought  of 
him,  as  well  as  of  her  sister;  and  he  thought  of  her  while  he 
walked  on  deck,  under  the  stars. 

"For  a  moment  white,  then  gone  forever." 
Again  the  words  came  singing  into  his  head.  She  was 
white  —  white  as  this  lacelike  foam  that  silvered  the  Mediter- 
ranean blue;  but  she  had  not  gone  forever,  as  he  had  thought 
when  he  likened  her  whiteness  to  the  spindrift  on  the  dark 
Channel  waves.  She  had  come  into  his  life  once  more,  un- 
expectedly; and  she  might  brighten  it  again  for  a  short  time 
on  land,  in  that  unknown  garden  his  thoughts  pictured,  behind 
the  gate  of  the  East.  Yet  she  would  not  be  of  his  life.  There 
was  no  place  in  it  for  a  girl.  Still,  he  thought  of  her,  and  went 
on  thinking,  involuntarily  planning  things  which  he  and  Nevill 
Oaird  would  do  to  help  the  child,  in  her  romantic  errand. 

68 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  69 

Of  course  she  must  not  be  allowed  to  travel  about  Algeria 
alone.  Once  settled  in  Algiers  she  must  stay  there  quietly 
till  the  authorities  found  her  sister. 

He  used  that  powerful-sounding  word  "authorities"  vague- 
ly in  his  mind,  but  he  was  sure  that  the  thing  would  be  simple 
enough.  The  police  could  be  applied  to,  if  Nevill  and  his 
friends  should  be  unable  to  discover  Ben  Halim  and  his  Ameri- 
can wife.  Almost  unconsciously,  Stephen  saw  himself  earn- 
ing Victoria  Ray's  gratitude.  It  was  a  pleasant  fancy,  and  he 
followed  it  as  one  wanders  down  a  flowery  path  found  in  a 
dark  forest. 

Victoria's  thoughts  of  him  were  as  many,  though  different. 

She  had  never  filled  her  mind  with  nonsense  about  men,  as 
many  girls  do.  As  she  would  have  said  to  herself,  she  had  been 
too  busy.  When  girls  at  school  had  talked  of  being  in  love, 
and  of  marrying,  she  had  been  interested,  as  if  in  a  story- 
book, but  it  had  not  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  ever  fall 
in  love  or  be  married.  It  seemed  so  less  than  ever,  now  that  she 
was  at  last  actually  on  her  way  to  look  for  Saidee.  She  was 
intensely  excited,  and  there  was  room  only  for  the  one  absorb- 
ing thought  in  mind  and  heart;  yet  she  was  not  as  anxious 
as  most  others  would  have  been  in  her  place.  Now  that 
Heaven  had  helped  her  so  far,  she  was  sure  she  would  be  helped 
to  the  end.  It  would  be  too  bad  to  be  true  that  anything 
dreadful  should  have  happened  to  Saidee  —  anything  from 
which  she,  Victoria,  could  not  save  her;  and  so  now,  very 
soon  perhaps,  everything  would  come  right.  It  seemed  to 
the  girl  that  somehow  Stephen  was  part  of  a  great  scheme, 
that  he  had  been  sent  into  her  life  for  a  purpose.  Other- 
wise, why  should  he  have  been  so  kind  since  the  first,  and  have 
appeared  this  second  time,  when  she  had  almost  forgotten 
him  in  the  press  of  other  thoughts  ?  Why  should  he  be  going 
where  she  was  going,  and  why  should  he  have  a  friend  who  had 
known  Algiers  and  Algeria  since  the  time  when  Saidee's  letters 
had  ceased  ? 


70  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

All  these  arguments  were  childlike;  but  Victoria  Ray  had 
not  passed  far  beyond  childhood;  and  though  her  ideas  of 
religion  were  her  own  —  unlearned  and  unconventional  — 
such  as  they  were  they  meant  everything  to  her.  Many  things 
which  she  had  heard  in  churches  had  seemed  unreal  to  the  girl; 
but  she  believed  that  the  Great  Power  moving  the  Universe 
planned  her  affairs  as  well  as  the  affairs  of  the  stars,  and  with 
equal  interest.  She  thought  that  her  soul  was  a  spark  given  out 
by  that  Power,  and  that  what  was  God  in  her  had  only  to  call 
to  the  AH' of  God  to  be  answered.  She  had  called,  asking  to 
find  Saidee,  and  now  she  was  going  to  find  her,  just  how  she  did 
not  yet  know;  but  she  hardly  doubted  that  Stephen  Knight 
was  connected  with  the  way.  Otherwise,  what  was  the  good  of 
him  to  her  ?  And  Victoria  was  far  too  humble  in  her  opinion 
of  herself,  despite  that  buoyant  confidence  in  her  star,  to 
imagine  that  she  could  be  of  any  use  to  him.  She  could  be 
useful  to  Saidee;  that  was  all.  She  hoped  for  nothing  more. 
And  little  as  she  knew  of  society,  she  understood  that  Stephen 
belonged  to  a  different  world  from  hers;  the  world  where 
people  were  rich,  and  gay,  and  clever,  and  amused  themselves; 
the  high  world,  from  a  social  point  of  view.  She  supposed, 
too,  that  Stephen  looked  upon  her  as  a  little  girl,  while  she  in 
her  turn  regarded  him  gratefully  and  admiringly,  as  from  a 
distance.  And  she  believed  that  he  must  be  a  very  good 
man. 

It  would  never  have  occurred  to  Victoria  Ray  to  call  him, 
even  in  thought,  her  "White  Knight, "  as  Margot  Lorenzi  per- 
sisted in  calling  him,  and  had  called  him  in  the  famous  in- 
terview. But  it  struck  her,  the  moment  she  heard  his  name, 
that  it  somehow  fitted  him  like  a  suit  of  armour.  She  was 
fond  of  finding  an  appropriateness  in  names,  and  sometimes, 
if  she  were  tired  or  a  little  discouraged,  she  repeated  her  own 
aloud,  several  times  over:  "Victoria,  Victoria.  I  am  Vic- 
toria," until  she  felt  strong  again  to  conquer  every  difficulty 
which  might  rise  against  her,  in  living  up  to  her  name.  Now 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  71 

she  was  of  opinion  that  Stephen's  face  would  do  very  well  in 
the  picture  of  a  young  knight  of  olden  days,  going  out  to  fight 
for  the  True  Cross.  Indeed,  he  looked  as  if  he  had  already 
passed  through  the  preparation  of  a  long  vigil,  for  his  face  was 
worn,  and  his  eyes  seldom  smiled  even  when  he  laughed  and 
seemed  amused.  His  features  gave  her  an  idea  that  the 
Creator  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains  in  chiselling  them, 
not  slighting  a  single  line.  She  had  seen  handsomer  men  — 
indeed,  the  splendid  Arab  on  the  ship  was  handsomer  —  but 
she  thought,  if  she  were  a  general  who  wanted  a  man  to  lead 
a  forlorn  hope  which  meant  almost  certain  death,  she  would 
choose  one  of  Stephen's  type.  She  had  the  impression  that 
he  would  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  himself  for  a  cause,  or  even 
for  a  person,  in  an  emergency,  although  he  had  the  air  of  one 
used  to  good  fortune,  who  loved  to  take  his  own  way  in  the 
small  things  of  life. 

And  so  she  finally  went  to  sleep  thinking  of  Stephen. 

It  is  seldom  that  even  the  Charles  Quex,  one  of  the  fastest 
ships  plying  between  Marseilles  and  Algiers,  makes  the  trip 
in  eighteen  hours,  as  advertised.  Generally  she  takes  two 
half-days  and  a  night,  but  this  time  people  began  to  say  that 
she  would  do  it  in  twenty-two  hours.  Very  early  in  the  dawn- 
ing she  passed  the  Balearic  Isles,  mysterious  purple  in  an  opal 
sea,  and  it  was  not  yet  noon  when  the  jagged  line  of  the  Atlas 
Mountains  hovered  in  pale  blue  shadow  along  a  paler  hori- 
zon. Then,  as  the  turbines  whirred,  the  shadow  material- 
ized, taking  a  golden  solidity  and  wildness  of  outline.  At 
length  the  tower  of  a  lighthouse  started  out  clear  white  against 
blue,  as  a  shaft  of  sunshine  struck  it.  Next,  the  nearer  moun- 
tains slowly  turned  to  green,  as  a  chameleon  changes:  the 
Admiralty  Island  came  clearly  into  view;  the  ancient  nest 
of  those  fierce  pirates  who  for  centuries  scourged  the  Mediter- 
ranean; and  last  of  all,  the  climbing  town  of  Algiers,  old 
Al-Djezair-el-Bahadja,  took  form  like  thick  patterns  of  mother- 
o'-pearl  set  in  bright  green  enamel,  the  patterns  eventually 


72  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

separating  themselves  into  individual  buildings.  The  strange, 
bulbous  domes  of  a  Byzantine  cathedral  on  a  hill  sprang  up 
like  a  huge  tropical  plant  of  many  flowers,  unfolding  fantastic 
buds  of  deep  rose-colour,  against  a  sky  of  violet  flame. 

"At  last,  Africa!"  said  Victoria,  standing  beside  Stephen, 
and  leaning  on  the  rail.  She  spoke  to  herself,  half  whispering 
the  words,  hardly  aware  that  she  uttered  them,  but  Stephen 
heard.  The  two  had  not  been  long  together  during  the  morn- 
ing, for  each  had  been  shy  of  giving  too  much  of  himself  or 
herself,  although  they  had  secretly  wished  for  each  other's 
society.  As  the  voyage  drew  to  a  close,  however,  Stephen 
was  no  longer  able  to  resist  an  attraction  which  he  felt  like  a 
compelling  magnetism.  His  excuse  was  that  he  wanted  to 
know  Miss  Ray's  first  impressions  of  the  place  she  had  con- 
stantly seen  in  her  thoughts  during  ten  years. 

"Is  it  like  what  you  expected  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it's  like,  because  I  have  photographs. 
And  I've  read  every  book  I  could  get  hold  of,  old  and  new, 
in  French  as  well  as  English.  I  always  kept  up  my  French, 
you  know,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  studied  Arabic.  I 
think  I  could  tell  the  names  of  some  of  the  buildings,  with- 
out making  mistakes.  Yet  it  looks  different,  as  the  living 
face  of  a  person  is  different  from  a  portrait  in  black  and  white. 
And  I  never  imagined  such  a  sky.  I  didn't  know  skies  could 
be  of  such  a  colour.  It's  as  if  pale  fire  were  burning  behind 
a  thin  veil  of  blue." 

It  was  as  she  said.  Stephen  had  seen  vivid  skies  on  the 
Riviera,  but  there  the  blue  was  more  opaque,  like  the  blue 
of  the  turquoise.  Here  it  was  ethereal  and  quivering,  like 
the  violet  fire  that  hovers  over  burning  ship-logs.  He  was 
glad  the  sky  of  Africa  was  unlike  any  other  sky  he  had  known. 
It  intensified  the  thrill  of  enchantment  he  had  begun  to  feel. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  it  might  be  possible  for  a  man  to  forget 
things  in  a  country  where  even  the  sky  was  of  another  blue. 

Sometimes,  when  Stephen  had  read  in  books  of  travel  (at 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  73 

which  he  seldom  even  glanced),  or  in  novels,  about  "the  mystery 
of  the  East/'  he  had  smiled  in  a  superior  way.  Why  should 
the  East  be  more  mysterious  than  the  West,  or  North,  or  South, 
except  that  women  were  shut  up  in  harems  and  wore  veils  if 
they  stirred  out  of  doors  ?  Such  customs  could  scarcely  make  a 
whole  country  mysterious.  But  now,  though  he  had  not 
yet  landed,  he  knew  that  he  would  be  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge the  indefinable  mystery  at  which  he  had  sneered.  Already 
he  fancied  an  elusive  influence,  like  the  touch  of  a  ghost. 
It  was  in  the  pulsing  azure  of  the  sky;  in  the  wild  forms  of 
the  Atlas  and  far  Kabyle  mountains  stretching  into  vague,  pale 
distances;  in  the  ivory  white  of  the  low-domed  roofs  that 
gleamed  against  the  vivid  green  hill  of  the  Sahel,  like  pearls 
on  a  veiled  woman's  breast. 

"Is  it  what  you  thought  it  would  be?"  Victoria  inquired  in 
her  turn. 

"I  hadn't  thought  much  about  it,"  Stephen  had  to  con- 
fess, fearing  she  would  consider  such  indifference  uninter- 
esting. He  did  not  add  what  remained  of  the  truth,  that  he 
had  thought  of  Algiers  as  a  refuge  from  what  had  become 
disagreeable,  rather  than  as  a  beautiful  place  which  he  wished 
to  see  for  its  own  sake.  "I'd  made  no  picture  in  my  mind. 
You  know  a  lot  more  about  it  all  than  I  do,  though  you've 
lived  so  far  away,  and  I  within  a  distance  of  forty-eight  hours." 

"That  great  copper-coloured  church  high  on  the  hill  is 
Notre  Dame  d'Afrique,"  said  the  girl.  "She's  like  a  dark 
sister  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde,  who  watches  over  Marseilles, 
isn't  she  ?  I  think  I  could  love  her,  though  she's  ugly,  really. 
And  I've  read  in  a  book  that  if  you  walk  up  the  hill  to  visit  her 
and  say  a  prayer,  you  may  have  a  hundred  days'  indulgence." 

Much  good  an  "indulgence"  would  do  him  now,  Stephen 
thought  bitterly. 

As  the  ship  steamed  closer  inshore,  the  dreamlike  beauty  of 
the  white  town  on  the  green  hillside  sharpened  into  a  reality 
which  might  have  seemed  disappointingly  modern  and  French, 


74  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

had  it  not  been  for  the  sprinkling  of  domes,  the  pointing  fingers 
of  minarets  with  glittering  tiles  of  bronzy  green,  and  the 
groups  of  old  Arab  houses  crowded  in  among  the  crudities 
of  a  new,  Western  civilization.  Down  by  the  wharf  for  which 
the  boat  aimed  like  a  homing  bird,  were  huddled  a  few  of  these 
houses,  ancient  dwellings  turned  into  commercial  offices  where 
shipping  business  was  transacted.  They  looked  forlorn,  yet 
beautiful,  like  haggard  slavewomen  who  remembered  days 
of  greatness  in  a  far-off  land. 

The  Charles  Quex  slackened  speed  as  she  neared  the 
harbour,  and  every  detail  of  the  town  leaped  to  the  eyes,  daz- 
zling in  the  southern  sunshine.  The  encircling  arms  of  break- 
waters were  flung  out  to  sea  in  a  vast  embrace;  the  smoke  of 
vessels  threaded  with  dark,  wavy  lines  the  pure  crystal  of  the 
air;  the  quays  were  heaped  with  merchandise,  some  of  it  in 
bales,  as  if  it  might  have  been  brought  by  caravans  across 
the  desert.  There  was  a  clanking  of  cranes  at  work,  a  creaking 
of  chains,  a  flapping  of  canvas,  and  many  sounds  which  blend 
in  the  harsh  poetry  of  sea-harbours.  Then  voices  of  men 
rose  shrilly  above  all  heavier  noises,  as  the  ship  slowly  turned 
and  crept  beside  a  floating  pontoon.  The  journey  together 
was  over  for  Stephen  Knight  and  Victoria  Ray. 


VII 


A  FIRST  glance,  at  such  close  quarters,  would  have 
told  the  least  instructed  stranger  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  two  clashing  civilizations,  both  tenacious, 
one  powerful. 

In  front,  all  along  the  shore,  towered  with  confident  effront- 
ery a  massive  line  of  buildings  many  stories  high,  great  cubes 
of  brick  and  stone,  having  elaborate  balconies  that  shadowed 
swarming  offices  with  dark,  gaping  vaults  below.  Along  the 
broad,  stone-paved  street  clanged  electric  tramcars.  There 
was  a  constant  coming  and  going  of  men.  Cloaked  and 
hooded  white  forms,  or  half-clad  apparitions  wrapped  in  what 
looked  like  dirty  bagging,  mingled  with  commonplace  figures 
in  Western  dress.  But  huddled  in  elbow-high  with  this  busy 
town  of  modern  France  (which  might  have  been  Marseilles 
or  Bordeaux)  was  something  alien,  something  remote  in  spirit; 
a  ghostly  band  of  white  buildings,  silent  and  pale  in  the  midst 
of  colour  and  noise.  Low  houses  with  flat  roofs  or  minia- 
ture dome&,  small,  secret  doorways,  tiny  windows  like  eyes 
narrowed  for  spying,  and  overhanging  upper  stories  supported 
on  close-set,  projecting  sticks  of  mellow  brown  which  meant 
great  age.  Minarets  sprang  up  in  mute  protest  against  the 
infidel,  appealing  to  the  sky.  All  that  was  left  of  old  Algiers 
tried  to  boast,  in  forced  dumbness,  of  past  glories,  of  every 
charm  the  beautiful,  fierce  city  of  pirates  must  have  possessed 
before  the  French  came  to  push  it  slowly  but  with  deadly 
sureness  back  from  the  sea.  Now,  silent  and  proud  in  the 
tragedy  of  failure,  it  stood  masked  behind  pretentious 
French  houses,  blocklike  in  ugliness,  or  flauntingly  ornate 

75 


76  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

as  many  buildings  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  or  Boulevard 
Haussmann. 

In  those  low-browed  dwellings  which  thickly  enamelled  the 
hill  with  a  mosaic  of  pink  and  pearly  whiteness,  all  the  way 
up  to  the  old  fortress  castle,  the  Kasbah,  the  true  life  of  African 
Algiers  hid  and  whispered.  The  modern  French  front  along 
the  fine  street  was  but  a  gay  veneer  concealing  realities,  an 
incrusted  civilization  imposed  upon  one  incredibly  ancient, 
unspeakably  different  and  ever  unchanging. 

Stephen  remembered  now  that  he  had  heard  people  decry 
Algiers,  pronouncing  it  spoiled  and  "completely  Frenchified." 
But  it  occurred  to  him  that  in  this  very  process  of  spoiling, 
an  impression  of  tragic  romance  had  been  created  which  less 
"spoiled"  towns  might  lack.  Here  were  clashing  contrasts 
which,  even  at  a  glance,  made  the  strangest  picture  he  had 
ever  seen;  and  already  he  began  to  feel  more  and  more  keenly, 
though  not  yet  to  understand,  something  of  the  magic  of  the 
East.  For  this  place,  though  not  the  East  according  to  geog- 
raphers, held  all  the  spirit  of  the  East  —  was  in  essence  truly 
the  East. 

Before  the  ship  lay  fairly  in  harbour,  brown  men  had  climbed 
on  board  from  little  boats,  demanding  to  be  given  charge  of  the 
passengers'  small  luggage,  which  the  stewards  had  brought  on 
deck,  and  while  one  of  these  was  arguing  in  bad  French  with 
Stephen,  a  tall,  dark  youth  beautifully  dressed  in  crimson  and 
white,  wearing  a  fez  jauntily  on  one  side,  stepped  up  with  a 
smile.  "Pardon,  monsieur,"  he  ventured.  "Je  suis  le  do- 
mestique  de  Monsieur  Caird"  And  then,  in  richly  guttural 
accents,  he  offered  the  information  that  he  was  charged  to 
look  after  monsieur's  baggage;  that  it  was  best  to  avoid  tons 
ces  Arabes  la,  and  that  Monsieur  Caird  impatiently  awaited 
his  friend  on  the  wharf. 

"But  you  —  aren't  you  Arab?"  asked  Stephen,  who  knew 
no  subtle  differences  between  those  who  wore  the  turban  or 
fez.  He  saw  that  the  good-looking,  merry-faced  boy  was  no 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  77 

browner  than  many  a  Frenchman  of  the  south,  and  that  his 
eyes  were  hazel;  still,  he  did  not  know  what  he  might  be,  if 
not  Arab. 

"Je  suis  Kabyle,  monsieur;  Kabyle  des  kauies  plateaux" 
replied  the  youth  with  pride,  and  a  look  of  contempt  at  the 
shouting  porters,  which  was  returned  with  interest.  They 
darted  glances  of  scorn  at  his  gold-braided  vest  and  jacket  of 
crimson  cloth,  his  light  blue  sash,  and  his  enormously  full 
white  trousers,  beneath  which  showed  a  strip  of  pale  golden 
leg  above  the  short  white  stockings,  spurning  the  immaculate 
smartness  of  his  livery,  preferring,  or  pretending  to  prefer, 
their  own  soiled  shabbiness  and  freedom.  The  Kabyle  saw 
these  glances,  but,  completely  satisfied  with  himself,  evidently 
attributed  them  to  envy. 

Stephen  turned  towards  Victoria,  of  whom  he  had  lost  sight 
for  a  moment.  He  wished  to  offer  the  Kabyle  boy's  services, 
but  already  she  had  accepted  those  of  a  very  old  Arab  who 
looked  thin  and  ostentatiously  pathetic.  It  was  too  late  now. 
He  saw  by  her  face  that  she  would  refuse  help,  rather  than 
hurt  the  man's  feelings.  But  she  had  told  him  the  name  of 
the  hotel  where  she  had  telegraphed  to  engage  a  room,  and 
Stephen  meant  at  the  instant  of  greeting  his  host,  to  ask  if  it 
were  suitable  for  a  young  girl  travelling  alone. 

He  caught  sight  of  Caird,  looking  up  and  waiting  for  him, 
before  he  was  able  to  land.  It  was  the  face  he  remembered; 
boyish,  with  beautiful  bright  eyes,  a  wide  forehead,  and  curly 
light  hair.  The  expression  was  more  mature,  but  the  same 
quaintly  angelic  look  was  there,  which  had  earned  for  Nevill 
the  nickname  of  "Choir  Boy"  and  "Wings." 

"Hullo,  Legs!"  called  out  Caird,  waving  his  Panama. 

"Hullo,  Wings!"  shouted  Stephen,  and  was  suddenly  tre- 
mendously glad  to  see  the  friend  he  had  thought  of  seldom 
during  the  last  eight  or  nine  years.  In  another  moment  he 
was  introducing  Nevill  to  Miss  Ray  and  hastily  asking  ques- 
tions concerniag  her  hotel,  while  a  fantastic  crowd  surged 


78  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

round  all  three.  Brown,  skurrying  men  in  torn  bagging,  the 
muscles  of  whose  bare,  hairless  legs  seemed  carved  in  dark 
oak;  shining  black  men  whose  faces  were  ebony  under  the 
ivory  white  of  their  turbans;  pale,  patient  Kabyles  of  the 
plains  bent  under  great  sacks  of  flour  which  drained  through 
ill-sewn  seams  and  floated  on  the  air  in  white  smoke,  making 
every  one  sneeze  as  the  crowd  swarmed  past.  Large  grey 
mules  roared,  miniature  donkeys  brayed,  and  half -naked 
children  laughed  or  howled,  and  darted  under  the  heads  of 
the  horses,  or  fell  against  the  bright  bonnets  of  waiting  motor 
cars.  There  were  smart  victorias,  shabby  cabs,  hotel  omni- 
buses, and  huge  carts;  and,  mingling  with  the  floating  dust 
of  the  spilt  flour  was  a  heavy  perfume  of  spices,  of  incense 
perhaps  blown  from  some  far-off  mosque,  and  ambergris  mixed 
with  grains  of  musk  in  amulets  which  the  Arabs  wore  round 
their  necks,  heated  by  their  sweating  flesh  as  they  worked  or 
stalked  about  shouting  guttural  orders.  There  was  a  salt 
tang  of  seaweed,  too,  like  an  undertone,  a  foundation  for  all 
the  other  smells;  and  the  air  was  warm  with  a  hint  of  summer, 
a  softness  that  was  not  enervating. 

As  soon  as  the  first  greeting  and  the  introduction  to  Miss 
Ray  were  confusedly  over,  Caird  cleverly  extricated  the  new- 
comers from  the  thick  of  the  throng,  sheltering  them  between 
his  large  yellow  motor  car  and  a  hotel  omnibus  waiting  for 
passengers  and  luggage. 

"Now  you're  safe,"  he  said,  in  the  young-sounding  voice 
which  pleasantly  matched  his  whole  personality.  He  was 
several  years  older  than  Stephen,  but  looked  younger,  for 
Stephen  was  nearly  if  not  quite  six  feet  in  height,  and  Nevill 
Caird  was  less  in  stature  by  at  least  four  inches.  He  was  very 
slightly  built,  too,  and  his  hair  was  as  yellow  as  a  child's.  His 
face  was  clean-shaven,  like  Stephen's,  and  though  Stephen, 
living  mostly  in  London,  was  brown  as  if  tanned  by  the  sun, 
Nevill,  out  of  doors  constantly  and  exposed  to  hot  southern 
sunshine,  had  the  complexion  of  a  girl.  Nevertheless,  thought 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  79 

Victoria  —  sensitive  and  quick  in  forming  impressions  —  he 
somehow  contrived  to  look  a  thorough  man,  passionate  and 
ready  to  be  violently  in  earnest,  like  one  who  would  love  or 
hate  in  a  fiery  way.  "He  would  make  a  splendid  martyr,"  the 
girl  said  to  herself,  giving  him  straight  look  for  straight  look, 
as  he  began  advising  her  against  her  chosen  hotel.  "But  I 
think  he  would  want  his  best  friends  to  come  and  look  on 
while  he  burned.  Mr.  Knight  would  chase  everybody  away." 

"Don't  go  to  any  hotel,"  Nevill  said.  "Be  my  aunt's 
guest.  It's  a  great  deal  more  her  house  than  mine.  There's 
lots  of  room  in  it  —  ever  so  much  more  than  we  want.  Just 
now  there's  no  one  staying  with  us,  but  often  we  have  a  dozen 
or  so.  Sometimes  my  aunt  invites  people.  Sometimes  I  do: 
sometimes  both  together.  Now  I  invite  you,  in  her  name. 
She's  quite  a  nice  old  lady.  You'll  like  her.  And  we've  got 
all  kinds  of  animals  —  everything,  nearly,  that  will  live  in  this 
climate,  from  tortoises  of  Carthage,  to  white  mice  from  Japan, 
and  a  baby  panther  from  Grand  Kabylia.  But  they  keep 
themselves  to  themselves.  I  promise  you  the  panther  won't 
try  to  sit  on  your  lap.  And  you'll  be  just  in  time  to  christen 
him.  We've  been  looking  for  a  name." 

"I  should  love  to  christen  the  panther,  and  you  are  more  than 
kind  to  say  your  aunt  would  like  me  to  visit  her;  but  I  can't 
possibly,  thank  you  very  much,"  answered  Victoria  in  the 
old-fashioned,  quaintly  provincial  way  which  somehow  in- 
tensified the  effect  of  her  brilliant  prettiness.  "I  have  come 
to  Algiers  on  —  on  business  that's  very  important  to  me.  Mr. 
Knight  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I've  asked  him  to  tell,  and 
he's  promised  to  beg  for  your  help.  When  you  know,  you'll 
see  that  it  will  be  better  for  me  not  to  be  visiting  anybody. 
I  —  I  would  rather  be  in  a  hotel,  in  spite  of  your  great  kindness." 

That  settled  the  matter.  Nevill  Caird  had  too  much  tact 
to  insist,  though  he  was  far  from  being  convinced.  He  said 
that  his  aunt,  Lady  MacGregor,  would  write  Miss  Ray  a  note 
asking  her  to  lunch  next  day,  and  then  they  would  have  the 


80  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

panther-christening.  Also  by  that  time  he  would  know,  from 
his  friend,  how  his  help  might  best  be  given.  But  in  any  case 
he  hoped  that  Miss  Ray  would  allow  his  car  to  drop  her  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Kasbah,  which  had  no  omnibus  and  therefore  did 
not  send  to  meet  the  boat.  Her  luggage  might  go  up  with  the 
rest,  and  be  left  at  the  hotel. 

These  offers  Victoria  accepted  gratefully;  and  as  Caird 
put  her  into  the  fine  yellow  car,  the  handsome  Arab  who  had 
been  on  the  boat  looked  at  her  with  chastened  curiosity  as  he 
passed.  He  must  have  seen  that  she  was  .with  the  English- 
man who  had  talked  to  her  on  board  the  Charles  Quex,  and 
that  now  there  was  another  man,  who  seemed  to  be  the  owner 
of  the  large  automobile.  The  Arab  had  a  servant  with  him, 
who  had  travelled  second  class  on  the  boat,  a  man  much  darker 
than  himself,  plainly  dressed,  with  a  smaller  turban  bound  by 
cheaper  cord;  but  he  was  very  clean,  and  as  dignified  as  his 
master.  Stephen  scarcely  noticed  the  two  figures.  The 
fine-looking  Arab  had  ceased  to  be  of  importance  since  he 
had  left  the  ship,  and  would  see  no  more  of  Victoria  Ray. 

The  chauffeur  who  drove  Nevill's  car  was  an  Algerian  who 
looked  as  if  he  might  have  a  dash  of  dark  blood  in  his  veins. 
Beside  him  sat  the  Kabyle  servant,  who,  in  his  picturesque 
embroidered  clothes,  with  his  jaunty  fez,  appeared  amusingly 
out  of  place  in  the  smart  automobile,  which  struck  the  last 
note  of  modernity.  The  chauffeur  had  a  reckless,  daring  face, 
with  the  smile  of  a  mischievous  boy;  but  he  steered  with  cau- 
tion and  skill  through  the  crowded  streets  where  open  trams 
rushed  by,  filled  to  overflowing  with  white-veiled  Arab  women 
of  the  lower  classes,  and  French  girls  in  large  hats,  who  sat 
crushed  together  on  the  same  seats.  Arabs  walked  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  disdained  to  quicken  their  steps  for  motor 
cars  and  carriages.  Tiny  children  with  charming  brown  faces 
and  eyes  like  wells  of  light,  darted  out  from  the  pavement, 
almost  in  front  of  the  motor,  smiling  and  begging,  absolutely 
fearless  and  engagingly  impudent.  It  was  all  intensely  interest- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  81 

ing  to  Stephen,  who  was,  however,  conscious  enough  of  his  past 
to  be  glad  that  he  was  able  to  take  so  keen  an  interest.  He 
had  the  sensation  of  a  man  who  has  been  partially  paralyzed, 
and  is  delighted  to  find  that  he  can  feel  a  pinch. 

The  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah,  which  Victoria  frankly  admitted 
she  had  chosen  because  of  its  low  prices,  was,  as  its  name 
indicated,  close  to  the  mounting  of  the  town,  near  the  corner 
of  a  tortuous  Arab  street,  narrow  and  shadowy  despite  its 
thick  coat  of  whitewash.  The  house  was  kept  by  an  extremely 
fat  Algerian,  married  to  a  woman  who  called  herself  Spanish, 
but  was  more  than  half  Moorish;  and  the  proprietor  himself 
being  of  mixed  blood,  all  the  servants  except  an  Algerian 
maid  or  two,  were  Kabyles  or  Arabs.  They  were  cheap  and 
easy  to  manage,  since  master  and  mistress  had  no  prejudices. 
Stephen  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  place,  which  might  suit 
commercial  travellers  or  parties  of  economical  tourists  who 
liked  to  rub  shoulders  with  native  life;  but  for  a  pretty  young 
girl  travelling  alone,  it  seemed  to  him  that,  though  it  was  clean 
enough,  nothing  could  be  less  appropriate.  Victoria  had 
made  up  her  mind  and  engaged  her  room,  however;  and  so 
as  no  definite  objection  could  be  urged,  he  followed  Caird's 
example,  and  held  his  tongue.  As  they  bade  the  girl  good- 
bye in  the  tiled  hall  (a  fearful  combination  of  all  that  was 
worst  in  Arab  and  European  taste)  Nevill  begged  her  to  let 
them  know  if  she  were  not  comfortable.  "You're  coming  to 
lunch  to-morrow  at  half -past  one,"  he  went  on,  "but  if  there's 
anything  meanwhile,  call  us  up  on  the  telephone.  We  can 
easily  find  you  another  hotel,  or  a  pension,  if  you're  deter- 
mined not  to  visit  my  aunt." 

"If  I  need  you,  I  promise  that  I  will  call,"  Victoria  said. 
And  though  she  answered  Caird,  she  looked  at  Stephen  Knight. 

Then  they  left  her;  and  Stephen  became  rather  thoughtful. 
But  he  tried  not  to  let  Nevill  see  his  preoccupation. 


vm 


A  THEY  left  the  arcaded  streets  of  commercial  Algiers, 
and  drove  up  the  long  hill  towards  Mustapha  Supe- 
rieur,  where  most  of  the  best  and  finest  houses  are, 
Stephen  and  Nevill  Caird  talked  of  what  they  saw, 
and  of  Victoria  Ray;  not  at  all  of  Stephen  himself.     Nevill  had 
asked  him  what  sort  of  trip  he  had  had,  and  not  another  question 
of  any  iort.     Stephen  was  glad  of  this,  and  understood  very 
w ell  that  it  was  not  because  his  friend  was  indifferent.     Had  he 
been  so,  he  would  not  have  invited  Stephen  to  make  this  visit. 
To  speak  of  the  past  they  had  shared,  long  ago,  would 
naturally  have  led  farther,  and  though  Stephen  was  not  sure 
that  he  mightn't  some  day  refer,  of  his  own  accord,  to  the  dis- 
tasteful subject  of.  the  Case  and  Margot  Lorenzi,  he  could  not 
have  borne  to  mention  either  now. 

As  they  passed  gateways  leading  to  handsome  houses,  mostly 
in  the  Arab  style,  Nevill  told  him  who  lived  in  each  one :  French, 
English,  and  American  families;  people  connected  with  the 
government,  who  remained  in  Algiers  all  the  year  round,  or 
foreigners  who  came  out  every  winter  for  love  of  their  beauti- 
ful villa  gardens  and  the  climate. 

"We've  rather  an  amusing  society  here,"  he  said.  "And  we'd 
defend  Algiers  and  each  other  to  any  outsider,  though  our 
greatest  pleasure  is  quarrelling  among  ourselves,  or  patching 
up  one  another's  rows  and  beginning  again  on  our  own  account. 
It's  great  fun  and  keeps  us  from  stagnating.  We  also  give 
quantities  of  luncheons  and  teas,  and  are  sick  of  going  to  each 
other's  entertainments;  yet  we're  so  furious  if  there's  anything 
we're  not  invited  to,  we  nearly  get  jaundice.  I  do  myself  - 

82 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  83 

though  I  hate  running  about  promiscuously;  and  I  spend 
hours  thinking  up  ingenious  lies  to  squeeze  out  of  accepting 
invitations  I'd  have  been  ill  with  rage  not  to  get.  And  there 
are  factions  which  loathe  each  other  worse  than  any  mere 
Montagus  and  Capulets.  We  have  rival  parties,  and  vie 
with  one  another  in  getting  hold  of  any  royalties  or  such  like, 
that  may  be  knocking  about;  but  we  who  hate  each  other 
most,  meet  at  the  Governor's  Palace  and  smile  sweetly  if 
French  people  are  looking;  if  not,  we  snort  like  war-horses 
—  only  in  a  whisper,  for  we're  invariably  polite." 

Stephen  laughed,  as  he  was  meant  to  do.  "What  about 
the  Arabs  ?  "  he  asked,  with  Victoria's  errand  in  his  mind.  "  Is 
there  such  a  thing  as  Arab  society?" 

"  Very  little  —  of  the  kind  we'd  call  '  society '  —  in  Algiers. 
In  Tunis  there's  more.  Much  of  the  old  Arab  aristocracy 
has  died  out  here,  or  moved  away;  but  there  are  a  few  left 
who  are  rich  and  well  born.  They  have  their  palaces  outside 
the  town;  but  most  of  the  best  houses  have  been  sold  to  Euro- 
peans, and  their  Arab  owners  have  gone  into  the  interior  where 
the  Roumis  don't  rub  elbows  with  them  quite  as  offensively 
as  in  a  big  French  town  like  this.  Naturally  they  prefer  the 
country.  And  I  know  a  few  of  the  great  Arab  Chiefs  — 
splendid-looking  fellows  who  turn  up  gorgeously  dressed  for 
the  Governor's  ball  every  year,  and  condescend  to  dine  with 
me  once  or  twice  while  they're  staying  on  to  amuse  themselves 
in  Algiers." 

"Condescend!"  Stephen  repeated. 

"By  Jove,  yes.  I'm  sure  they  think  it's  a  great  condescen- 
sion. And  I'm  not  sure  you  won't  think  so  too,  when  you 
see  them  —  as  of  course  you  will.  You  must  go  to  the 
Governor's  ball  with  me,  even  if  you  can't  be  bothered  going 
anywhere  else.  It's  a  magnificent  spectacle.  And  I  get  on 
pretty  well  among  the  Arabs,  as  I've  learned  to  speak  their 
lingo  a  bit.  Not  that  I've  worried.  But  nearly  nine  years 
is  a  long  time." 


84  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

This  was  Stephen's  chance  to  tell  what  he  chose  to  tell  of 
his  brief  acquaintance  with  Victoria  Ray,  and  of  the  mission 
which  had  brought  her  to  Algiers.  Somehow,  as  he  unfolded 
the  story  he  had  heard  from  the  girl  on  board  ship,  the  scent 
of  orange  blossoms,  luscious-sweet  in  this  region  of  gardens, 
connected  itself  in  his  mind  with  thoughts  of  the  beautiful 
woman  who  had  married  Cassim  ben  Halim,  and  disappeared 
from  the  world  she  had  known.  He  imagined  her  in  an  Arab 
garden  where  orange  blossoms  fell  like  snow,  eating  her  heart 
out  for  the  far  country  and  friends  she  would  never  see  again, 
rebelling  against  a  monstrous  tyranny  which  imprisoned  her 
in  this  place  of  perfumes  and  high  white  walls.  Or  perhaps 
the  scented  petals  were  falling  now  upon  her  grave. 

"  Cassim  ben  Halim  —  Captain  Cassim  ben  Halim,"  Nevill 
repeated.  "  Seems  familiar  somehow,  as  if  I'd  heard  the  name; 
but  most  of  these  Arab  names  have  a  kind  of  family  likeness 
in  our  ears.  Either  he's  a  person  of  no  particular  importance, 
or  else  he  must  have  left  Algiers  before  my  Uncle  James  Caird 
died  —  the  man  who  willed  me  his  house,  you  know  —  brother 
of  Aunt  Caroline  MacGregor  who  lives  with  me  now.  If 
I've  ever  heard  anything  about  Ben  Halim,  whatever  it  is  has 
slipped  my  mind.  But  I'll  do  my  best  to  find  out  something." 

"Miss  Ray  believes  he  was  of  importance,"  said  Stephen. 
"She  oughtn't  to  have  much  trouble  getting  on  to  his  trail, 
should  you  think  ?  " 

Nevill  looked  doubtful.  "Well,  if  he'd  wanted  her  on  his 
trail,  she'd  never  have  been  off  it.  If  he  didn't,  and  doesn't, 
care  to  be  got  at,  finding  him  mayn't  be  as  simple  as  it 
would  be  in  Europe,  where  you  can  always  resort  to  detectives 
if  worst  comes  to  worst." 

"  Can't  you  here  ?  "  asked  Stephen. 

"  Well,  there's  the  French  police,  of  course,  and  the  military 
in  the  south.  But  they  don't  care  to  interfere  with  the  private 
affairs  of  Arabs,  if  no  crime's  been  committed  —  and  they 
wouldn't  do  anything  in  such  a  case,  I  should  think,  in  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  85 

way  of  looking  up  Ben  Halim,  though  they'd  tell  anything 
they  might  happen  to  know  already,  I  suppose  —  unless  they 
thought  best  to  keep  silence  with  foreigners." 

"There  must  be  people  in  Algiers  who'd  remember  seeing 
such  a  beautiful  creature  as  Ben  Halim's  wife,  even  if  her 
husband  whisked  her  away  nine  years  ago,"  Stephen  argued. 

"I  wonder?"  murmured  Caird,  with  an  emphasis  which 
struck  his  friend  as  odd. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Stephen. 

"  I  mean,  I  wonder  if  any  one  in  Algiers  ever  saw  her  at  all  ? 
Ben  Halim  was  in  the  French  Army;  but  he  was  a  Mussulman. 
Paris  and  Algiers  are  a  long  cry,  one  from  the  other  —  if  you're 
an  Arab." 

"Jove!    You  don't  think - 

"You've  spotted  it.     That's  what  I  do  think." 

"That  he  shut  her  up?" 

"That  he  forced  her  to  live  the  life  of  a  Mussulman  woman. 
Why,  what  else  could  you  expect,  when  you  come  to  look  at 
it?" 

"  But  an  American  girl " 

"A  woman  who  marries  gives  herself  to  her  husband's 
nation  as  well  as  to  her  husband,  doesn't  she  —  especially  if 
he's  an  Arab  ?  Only,  thank  God,  it  happens  to  very  few 
European  girls,  except  of  the  class  that  doesn't  so  much  mat- 
ter. Think  of  it.  This  Ben  Halim,  a  Spahi  officer,  falls  dead 
in  love  with  a  girl  when  he's  on  leave  in  Paris.  He  feels  he 
must  have  her.  He  can  get  her  only  by  marriage.  They're 
as  subtle  as  the  devil,  even  the  best  of  them,  these  Arabs. 
He'd  have  to  promise  the  girl  anything  she  wanted,  or  lose 
her.  Naturally  he  wouldn't  give  it  away  that  he  meant  to 
veil  her  and  clap  her  into  a  harem  the  minute  he  got  her  home. 
If  he'd  even  hinted  anything  of  that  sort  she  wouldn't  have 
stirred  a  step.  But  for  a  Mussulman  to  let  his  wife  walk 
the  streets  unveiled,  like  a  Roumia,  or  some  woman  of  easy 
virtue,  would  be  a  horrible  disgrace  to  them  both.  His  re- 


86  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

lations  and  friends  would  cut  him,  and  hoot  her  at  sight.  The 
more  he  loved  his  wife,  the  less  likely  he'd  be  to  keep  a  prom- 
ise, made  in  a  different  world.  It  wouldn't  be  human  nature 
—  Arab  human  nature  —  to  keep  it.  Besides,  they  have  the 
jealousy  of  the  tiger,  these  Eastern  fellows.  It's  a  madness." 

"Then  perhaps  no  one  ever  knew,  out  here,  that  the  man 
had  brought  home  a  foreign  wife?" 

"Almost  surely  not.  No  European,  that  is.  Arabs  might 
know  —  through  their  women.  There's  nothing  that  passes 
which  they  can't  find  out.  How  they  do  it,  who  can  tell? 
Their  ways  are  as  mysterious  as  everything  else  here,  except 
the  lives  of  us  hiverneurs,  who  don't  even  try  very  hard  to 
hide  our  own  scandals  when  we  have  any.  But  no  Arab 
could  be  persuaded  or  forced  to  betray  another  Arab  to  a 
European,  unless  for  motives  of  revenge.  For  love  or  hate, 
they  stand  together.  In  virtues  and  vices  they're  absolutely 
different  from  Europeans.  And  if  Ben  Halim  doesn't  want 
anybody,  not  excepting  his  wife's  sister,  to  get  news  of  his 
wife,  why,  it  may  be  difficult  to  get  it,  that's  all  I  say.  Going 
to  Miss  Ray's  hotel,  you  could  see  something  of  that  Arab 
street  close  by,  on  the  fringe  of  the  Kasbah  —  which  is  what 
they  call,  not  the  old  fort  alone,  but  the  whole  Arab  town." 

"Yes.  I  saw  the  queer  white  houses,  huddled  together, 
that  looked  like  blank  walls  only  broken  by  a  door,  with  here 
and  there  a  barred  window." 

"Well,  what  I  mean  is  that  it's  almost  impossible  for  any 
European  to  learn  what  goes  on  behind  those  blank  walls 
and  those  little  square  holes,  in  respectable  houses.  But 
we'll  hope  for  the  best.  And  here  we  are  at  my  place.  I'm 
rather  proud  of  it." 

They  had  come  to  the  arched  gateway  of  a  white-walled 
garden.  The  sun  had  set  fire  to  the  gold  of  some  sunken 
Arab  lettering  over  the  central  arch,  so  that  each  broken  line 
darted  forth  its  separate  flame.  "Djenan  el  Djouad;  House 
of  the  Nobleman,"  Nevill  translated.  "It  was  built  for  the 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  87 

great  confidant  of  a  particularly  wicked  old  Dey  of  Algiers, 
in  sixteen  hundred  and  something,  and  the  place  had  been 
allowed  to  fall  into  ruin  when  my  uncle  bought  it,  about  twenty 
or  thirty  years  ago.  There  was  a  romance  in  his  life,  I  be- 
lieve. He  came  to  Algiers  for  his  health,  as  a  young  man, 
meaning  to  stay  only  a  few  months,  but  fell  in  love  with  a 
face  which  he  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of,  under  a  veil 
that  disarranged  itself  —  on  purpose  or  by  accident  —  in  a 
carriage  belonging  to  a  rich  Arab.  Because  of  that  face  he 
remained  in  Algiers,  bought  this  house,  spent  years  in  restor- 
ing it,  exactly  in  Arab  style,  and  making  a  beautiful  garden 
out  of  his  fifteen  or  sixteen  acres.  Whether  he  ever  got  to 
know  the  owner  of  the  face,  iiistory  doesn't  state:  my  uncle 
was  as  secretive  as  he  was  romantic.  But  odd  things  have 
been  said.  I  expect  they're  still  said,  behind  my  back.  And 
they're  borne  out,  I'm  bound  to  confess,  by  the  beauty  of  the 
decorations  in  that  part  of  the  house  intended  for  the  ladies. 
Whether  it  was  ever  occupied  in  Uncle  James's  day,  nobody 
can  tell;  but  Aunt  Caroline,  his  sister,  who  has  the  best  rooms 
there  now,  vows  she's  seen  the  ghost  of  a  lovely  being,  all 
spangled  gauze  and  jewels,  with  silver  khal-khal,  or  anklets, 
that  tinkle  as  she  moves.  I  assure  my  aunt  it  must  be  a  dream, 
come  to  punish  her  for  indulging  in  two  goes  of  her  favourite 
sweet  at  dinner;  but  in  my  heart  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it's 
true.  The  whole  lot  of  us,  in  our  family,  are  romantic  and 
superstitious.  We  can't  help  it  and  don't  want  to  help  it, 
though  we  suffer  for  our  foolishness  often  enough,  goodness 
knows." 

The  scent  of  orange  blossoms  and  acacias  was  poignantly 
sweet,  as  the  car  passed  an  Arab  lodge,  and  wound  slowly 
up  an  avenue  cut  through  a  grove  of  blossoming  trees. 
The  utmost  pains  had  been  taken  in  the  laying  out  of  the 
garden,  but  an  effect  of  carelessness  had  been  preserved. 
The  place  seemed  a  fairy  tangle  of  white  and  purple  lilacs, 
gold-dripping  laburnums,  acacias  with  festoons  of  pearl, 


88  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

roses  looping  from  orange  tree  to  mimosa,  and  a  hundred 
gorgeous  tropical  flowers  like  painted  birds  and  butterflies. 
In  shadowed  nooks  under  dark  cypresses,  glimmered  arum 
lilies,  sparkling  with  the  diamond  dew  that  sprayed  from 
carved  marble  fountains,  centuries  old;  and  low  seats  of  mar- 
ble mosaiced  with  rare  tiles  stood  under  magnolia  trees  or 
arbours  of  wistaria.  Giant  cypresses,  tall  and  dark  as  a  band 
of  Genii,  marched  in  double  line  on  either  side  the  avenue  as 
it  straightened  and  turned  towards  the  house. 

White  in  the  distance  where  that  black  procession  halted, 
glittered  the  old  Arab  palace,  built  in  one  long  fa9ade,  and 
other  fa9ades  smaller,  less  regular,  looking  like  so  many  huge 
blocks  of  marble  grouped  together.  Over  one  of  these  blocks 
fell  a  crimson  torrent  of  bougainvillaea;  another  was  veiled 
with  white  roses  and  purple  clematis;  a  third  was  showered 
with  the  gold  of  some  strange  tropical  creeper  that  Stephen 
did  not  know. 

On  the  roof  of  brown  and  dark-green  tiles,  the  sunlight 
poured,  making  each  tile  lustrous  as  the  scale  of  a  serpent, 
and  all  along  the  edge  grew  tiny  flowers  and  grasses,  spring- 
ing out  of  interstices  to  wave  filmy  threads  of  pink  and  gold. 

The  principal  fa$ade  was  blank  as  a  wall,  save  for  a  few 
small,  mysterious  windows,  barred  with  grilles  of  iron,  green 
with  age;  but  on  the  other  f^ades  were  quaint  recessed  bal- 
conies, under  projecting  roofs  supported  with  beams  of  cedar; 
and  the  door,  presently  opened  by  an  Arab  servant,  was  very 
old  too,  made  of  oak  covered  with  an  armour  of  greenish 
copper. 

Even  when  it  had  closed  behind  Stephen  and  Nevill,  they 
were  not  yet  in  the  house,  but  in  a  large  court  with  a  ceiling 
of  carved  and  painted  cedar-wood  supported  by  marble  pil- 
lars of  extreme  lightness  and  grace.  In  front,  this  court  was 
open,  looking  on  to  an  inner  garden  with  a  fountain  more 
delicate  of  design  than  those  Stephen  had  seen  outside.  The 
three  walls  of  the  court  were  patterned  all  over  with  ancient 


-• 
THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  89 

tiles  rare  as  some  faded  Spanish  brocade  in  a  cathedral,  and 
along  their  length  ran  low  seats  where  in  old  days  sat  slaves 
awaiting  orders  from  their  master. 

Out  from  this  court  they  walked  through  a  kind  of  pillared 
cloister,  and  the  fa9ades  of  the  house  as  they  passed  on,  were 
beautiful  in  pure  simplicity  of  line;  so  white,  they  seemed 
to  turn  the  sun  on  them  to  moonlight;  so  jewelled  with  bands 
and  plaques  of  lovely  tiles,  that  they  were  like  snowy  shoul- 
ders of  a  woman  hung  with  necklaces  of  precious  stones. 

By  the  time  they  had  left  this  cloistered  garden  and  threaded 
their  way  indoors,  Stephen  had  lost  his  bearings  completely. 
He  was  convinced  that,  once  in,  he  should  never  find  the 
clue  which  would  guide  him  out  again  as  he  had  come. 
There  was  another  garden  court,  much  larger  than  the 
first,  and  this,  Nevill  said,  had  been  the  garden  of  the 
palace-women  in  days  of  old.  It  had  a  fountain  whose 
black  marble  basin  was  fringed  with  papyrus,  and  filled 
with  pink,  blue,  and  white  water  lilies,  from  under  whose 
flat  dark  pads  glimmered  the  backs  of  darting  goldfish.  Three 
walls  of  this  garden  had  low  doorways  with  cunningly  carved 
doors  of  cedar-wood,  and  small,  iron-barred  windows  festooned 
with  the  biggest  roses  Stephen  had  ever  seen;  but  the  fourth 
side  was  formed  by  an  immense  loggia  with  a  dais  at  the  back, 
•and  an  open-fronted  room  at  either  end.  Walls  and  floor 
of  this  loggia  were  tiled,  and  barred  windows  on  either  side 
the  dais  looked  far  down  over  a  world  which  seemed  all  sky, 
sea,  and  garden.  One  of  the  little  open  rooms  was  hung 
with  Persian  prayer-rugs  which  Stephen  thought  were  like 
fading  rainbows  seen  through  a  mist;  and  there  were  queer 
old  tinselled  pictures  such  as  good  Moslems  love:  Borak, 
the  steed  of  the  prophet,  half  winged  woman,  half  horse; 
the  Prophet's  uncle  engaged  in  mighty  battle;  the  Prophet's 
favourite  daughter,  Fatma-Zor a,  daintily  eating  her  sacred  break- 
fast. The  other  room  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  tiled  loggia 
was  fitted  up,  Moorish  fashion,  for  the  making  of  coffee;  walls 


90  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

and  ceiling  carved,  gilded,  and  painted  in  brilliant  colours; 
the  floor  tiled  with  the  charming  "windmill"  pattern;  many 
shelves  adorned  with  countless  little  coffee  cups  in  silver  stand- 
ards; with  copper  and  brass  utensils  of  all  imaginable  kinds; 
and  in  a  gilded  recess  was  a  curious  apparatus  for  boiling  water. 

Nevill  Caird  displayed  his  treasures  and  the  beauties  of 
his  domain  with  an  ingenuous  pride,  delighted  at  every  word 
of  appreciation,  stopping  Stephen  here  and  there  to  point 
out  something  of  which  he  was  fond,  explaining  the  value  of 
certain  old  tiles  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  expert,  and  gladly 
lingering  to  answer  every  question.  Some  day,  he  said,  he 
was  going  to  write  a  book  about  tiles,  a  book  which  should 
have  wonderful  illustrations. 

"Do  you  really  like  it  all?"  he  asked,  as  Stephen  looked 
out  from  a  barred  window  of  the  loggia,  over  the  wide  view. 

"I  never  even  imagined  anything  so  fantastically  beauti- 
ful," Stephen  returned  warmly.  "You  ought  to  be  happy, 
even  if  you  could  never  go  outside  your  own  house  and  gar- 
dens. There's  nothing  to  touch  this  on  the  Riviera.  It's  a 
palace  of  the  'Arabian  Nights.' ' 

"There  was  a  palace  in  the  'Arabian  Nights,'  if  you  remem- 
ber," said  Nevill,  "where  everything  was  perfect  except  one 
thing.  Its  master  was  miserable  because  he  couldn't  get  that 
thing." 

"The  Roc's  egg,  of  Aladdin's  palace,"  Stephen  recalled. 
"Do  you  lack  a  Roc's  egg  for  yours?" 

"The  equivalent,"  said  Nevill.  "The  one  thing  which 
I  want,  and  don't  seem  likely  to  get,  though  I  haven't  quite 
given  up  hope.  It's  a  woman.  And  she  doesn't  want  me 
—  or  my  palace.  I'll  tell  you  about  her  some  day  —  soon, 
perhaps.  And  maybe  you'll  see  her.  But  never  mind  my 
troubles  for  the  moment.  I  can  put  them  out  of  my  mind 
with  comparative  ease,  in  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  you. 
Now  we'll  go  indoors.  You  haven't  an  idea  what  the  house 
is  like  yet.  By  the  way,  I  nearly  forgot  this  chap." 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  91 

He  put  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  grey  flannel  coat, 
and  pulled  out  a  green  frog,  wrapped  in  a  lettuce  leaf  which 
was  inadequate  as  a  garment,  but  a  perfect  match  as  to  colour. 

"I  bought  him  on  the  way  down  to  meet  you,"  Nevill  ex- 
plained. "Saw  an  Arab  kid  trying  to  sell  him  in  the  street, 
poor  little  beast.  Thought  it  would  be  a  friendly  act  to  bring 
him  here  to  join  my  happy  family,  which  is  large  and  varied. 
I  don't  remember  anybody  living  in  this  fountain  who's  likely 
to  eat  him,  or  be  eaten  by  him." 

Down  went  the  frog  on  the  wide  rim  of  the  marble  fountain, 
and  sat  there,  meditatively,  with  a  dawning  expression  of 
contentment,  so  Stephen  fancied,  on  his  green  face.  He  looked, 
Stephen  thought,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  forget  a  troubled  past, 
and  as  if  his  new  home  with  all  its  unexplored  mysteries  of 
reeds  and  lily  pads  were  wondrously  to  his  liking. 

"I  wish  you'd  name  that  person  after  me,"  said  Stephen. 
"You're  being  very  good  to  both  of  us,  —  taking  us  out  of 
Hades  into  Paradise." 

"Come  along  in,"  was  Nevill  Caird's  only  answer.  But 
he  walked  into  the  house  with  his  hand  on  Stephen's  shoulder. 


IX 


DJENAN  EL  DJOUAD  was  a  labyrinth.  Stephen 
Knight  abandoned  all  attempt  at  keeping  a  mental 
clue  before  he  had  reached  the  drawing-room. 
Nevill  led  him  there  by  way  of  many  tile-paved 
corridors,  lit  by  hanging  Arab  lamps  suspended  from  roofs 
of  arabesqued  cedar-wood.  They  went  up  or  down  marble 
steps,  into  quaint  little  alcoved  rooms  furnished  with  noth- 
ing but  divans  and  low  tables  or  dower  chests  crusted  with 
Syrian  mother-o'-pearl,  on  into  rooms  where  brocade-hung 
walls  were  covered  with  Arab  musical  instruments  of  all  kinds, 
or  long-necked  Moorish  guns  patterned  with  silver,  ivory  and 
coral.  Here  and  there  as  they  passed,  were  garden  glimpses, 
between  embroidered  curtains,  looking  through  windows 
always  barred  with  greenish  wrought  iron,  so  old  as  to  be 
rarely  beautiful;  and  some  small  windows  had  no  curtains, 
but  were  thickly  frilled  outside  with  the  violent  crimson  of 
bougainvillaea,  or  fringed  with  tassels  of  wistaria,  loop  on  loop 
of  amethysts.  High  above  these  windows,  which  framed 
flowery  pictures,  were  other  windows,  little  and  jewelled,  mere 
plaques  of  filagree  workmanship,  fine  as  carved  ivory  or  silver 
lace,  and  lined  with  coloured  glass  of  delicate  tints  —  gold, 
lilac,  and  pale  rose. 

"Here's  the  drawing-room  at  last,"  said  Nevill,  "and  here's 
my  aunt." 

"If  you  can  call  it  a  drawing-room,"  objected  a  gently 
complaining  voice.  "A  filled-in  court,  where  ghosts  of  mur- 
dered slaves  come  and  moan  while  you  have  your  tea.  How 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Knight?  I'm  delighted  you've  taken  pity 

92 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  93 

on  Nevill.  He's  never  so  happy  as  when  he's  showing  a  new 
friend  the  house  —  except  when  he's  obtained  an  old  tile, 
or  a  new  monster  of  some  sort,  for  his  collection." 

"In  me,  he  kills  two  birds  with  one  stone,"  said  Stephen, 
smiling,  as  he  shook  the  hand  of  a  tiny  lady  who  looked  rather 
like  an  elderly  fairy  disguised  in  a  cap,  that  could  have  been 
born  nowhere  except  north  of  the  Tweed. 

She  had  delicate  little  features  which  had  been  made  to  fit 
a  pretty  child,  and  had  never  grown  up.  Her  hair,  of  a  red- 
dish yellow,  had  faded  to  a  yellowish  white,  which  by  a  faint 
fillip  of  the  imagination  could  be  made  to  seem  golden  in 
some  lights.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  round,  and  of  a  china- 
blue  colour;  her  eyebrows  so  arched  as  to  give  her  an  expres- 
sion of  perpetual  surprise,  her  forehead  full,  her  cheekbones 
high  and  pink,  her  small,  pursed  mouth  of  the  kind  which 
prefers  to  hide  a  sense  of  humour,  and  then  astonish  people 
with  it  when  they  have  ceased  to  believe  in  its  existence.  If 
her  complexion  had  not  been  netted  all  over  with  a  lacework 
of  infinitesimal  wrinkles,  she  would  have  looked  like  a  little 
girl  dressed  up  for  an  old  lady.  She  had  a  ribbon  of  the  Mac- 
Gregor  tartan  on  her  cap,  and  an  uncompromising  cairngorm 
fastened  her  fichu  of  valuable  point  lace.  A  figure  more 
out  of  place  than  hers  in  an  ancient  Arab  palace  of  Algiers 
it  would  be  impossible  to  conceive ;  yet  it  was  a  pleasant  figure 
to  see  there,  and  Stephen  knew  that  he  was  going  to  like  Nevill's 
Aunt  Caroline,  Lady  MacGregor. 

"I  wish  you  looked  more  of  a  monster  than  you  do,"  said 
she,  "because  you  might  frighten  the  ghosts.  We're  eaten 
up  with  them,  the  way  some  folk  in  old  houses  are  with  rats. 
Nearly  all  of  them  slaves,  too,  so  there's  no  variety,  except 
that  some  are  female.  I've  given  you  the  room  with  the 
prettiest  ghosts,  but  if  you're  not  the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh 
son,  you  may  not  see  or  even  hear  them." 

"Does  Nevill  see  or  hear?"  asked  Stephen. 

"As  much  as  Aunt  Caroline  does,  if  the  truth  were  known," 


94  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

answered  her  nephew.  "Only  she  couldn't  be  happy  unless 
she  had  a  grievance.  Here  she  wanted  to  choose  an  original 
and  suitable  one,  so  she  hit  upon  ghosts  —  the  ghosts  of  slaves 
murdered  by  a  cruel  master." 

"Hit  upon  them,  indeed!"  she  echoed  indignantly,  making 
her  knitting  needles  click,  a  movement  which  displayed  her 
pretty,  miniature  hands,  half  hidden  in  lace  ruffles.  "As 
if  they  hadn't  gone  through  enough,  in  flesh  and  blood,  poor 
creatures!  Some  of  them  may  have  been  my  countrymen, 
captured  on  the  seas  by  those  horrid  pirates." 

"Who  was  the  cruel  master?"  Stephen  wanted  to  know, 
still  smiling,  because  it  was  almost  impossible  not  to  smile 
at  Lady  MacGregor. 

"Not  my  brother  James,  I'm  glad  to  say,"  she  quickly 
replied.  "It  was  about  three  hundred  years  before  his  time. 
And  though  he  had  some  quite  irritating  tricks  as  a  young 
man,  murdering  slaves  wasn't  one  of  them.  To  be  sure,  they 
tell  strange  tales  of  him  here,  as  I  make  no  doubt  Nevill  has 
already  mentioned,  because  he's  immoral  enough  to  be  proud 
of  what  he  calls  the  romance.  I  mean  the  story  of  the  beauti- 
ful Arab  lady,  whom  James  is  supposed  to  have  stolen  from 
her  rightful  husband  —  that  is,  if  an  Arab  can  be  rightful  — 
and  hidden  in  this  house  far  many  a  year,  till  at  last  she  died, 
after  the  search  for  her  had  long,  long  gone  by." 

"You're  as  proud  of  the  romance  as  I  am,  or  you  wouldn't 
be  at  such  pains  to  repeat  it  to  everybody,  pretending  to  think 
I've  already  told  it,"  said  Nevill.  "But  I'm  going  to  show 
Knight  his  quarters.  Pretty  or  plain,  there  are  no  ghosts 
here  that  will  hurt  him.  And  then  we'll  have  lunch,  for  which 
he's  starving." 

Stephen's  quarters  consisted  of  a  bedroom  (furnished  in 
Tunisian  style,  with  an  imposing  four-poster  of  green  and 
gold  ornamented  with  a  gilded,  sacred  cow  under  a  crown) 
and  a  sitting  room  gay  with  colourful  decorations  imported 
from  Morocco.  These  rooms  opened  upon  a  wide  covered 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  95 

balcony  screened  by  a  carved  wooden  lattice  and  from  the 
balcony  Stephen  could  look  over  hills,  near  and  far,  dotted 
with  white  villas  that  lay  like  resting  gulls  on  the  green  wave 
of  verdure  which  cascaded  down  to  join  the  blue  waves  of  the 
sea.  Up  from  that  far  blueness  drifted  on  the  wind  a  mur- 
murous sound  like  ^Eolian  harps,  mingled  with  the  tinkle  of 
fairy  mandolins  in  the  fountain  of  the  court  below. 

At  luncheon,  in  a  dining-room  that  opened  on  to  a  white- 
walled  garden  where  only  lilies  of  all  kinds  grew,  to  Stephen's 
amazement  two  Highlanders  in  kilts  stood  behind  his  hostess's 
chair.  They  were  young,  exactly  alike,  and  of  precisely  the 
same  height,  six  foot  two  at  least.  "No,  you  are  not  dreaming 
them,  Mr.  Knight,"  announced  Lady  MacGregor,  evidently 
delighted  with  the  admiring  surprise  in  the  look  he  bestowed 
upon  these  images.  "And  you're  quite  right.  They  are 
twins.  I  may  as  well  break  it  to  you  now,  as  I  had  to  do  to 
Nevill  when  he  invited  me  to  come  to  Algiers  and  straighten 
out  his  housekeeping  accounts :  they  play  Ruth  to  my  Naomi. 
Whither  I  go,  they  go  also,  even  to  the  door  of  the  bathroom, 
where  they  carry  my  towels,  for  I  have  no  other  maid  than 
they." 

Stephen  could  not  help  glancing  at  the  two  giants,  expect- 
ing to  see  some  involuntary  quiver  of  eye  or  nostril  answer 
electrically  to  this  frank  revelation  of  their  office;  but  their 
countenances  (impossible  to  think  of  as  mere  faces)  remained 
expressionless  as  if  carved  in  stone.  Lady  MacGregor  took 
nothing  from  Mohammed  and  the  other  Kabyle  servant  who 
waited  on  Nevill  and  Stephen.  Everything  for  her  was 
handed  to  one  of  the  Highlanders,  who  gravely  passed  on 
the  dish  to  their  mistress.  If  she  refused  a  plat  favoured  by 
them,  instead  of  carrying  it  away,  the  giants  in  kilts  silently 
but  firmly  pressed  it  upon  her  acceptance,  until  in  self-defence 
she  seized  some  of  the  undesired  food,  and  ate  it  under  their 
watchful  eyes. 

During  the  meal  a  sudden  thunderstorm  boiled  up  out  of 


96  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  sea:  the  sky  became  a  vast  brazen  bowl,  and  a  strange, 
coppery  twilight  bleached  the  lilies  in  the  white  garden  to  a 
supernatural  pallor.  The  room,  with  its  embroidered  Moor- 
ish hangings,  darkened  to  a  rich  gloom;  but  Mohammed 
touched  a  button  on  the  wall,  and  all  the  quaint  old  Arab 
lamps  that  stood  in  corners,  or  hung  suspended  from  the 
cedar  roof,  flashed  out  cunningly  concealed  electric  lights. 
At  the  same  moment,  there  began  a  great  howling  outside  the 
door.  Mohammed  sprang  to  open  it,  and  in  poured  a  wave 
of  animals.  Stephen  hastily  counted  five  dogs;  a  collie,  a  white 
deerhound,  a  Dandy  Dinmont,  and  a  mother  and  child  of  un- 
known race,  which  he  afterwards  learned  was  Kabyle,  a  breed 
beloved  of  mountain  men  and  desert  tent-dwellers.  In  front 
of  the  dogs  bounded  a  small  African  monkey,  who  leaped  to 
the  back  of  Nevill's  chair,  and  behind  them  toddled  with 
awkward  grace  a  baby  panther,  a  mere  ball  of  yellow  silk. 

"They  don't  like  the  thunder,  poor  dears,"  Nevill  apolo- 
gised. "That's  why  they  howled,  for  they're  wonderfully 
polite  people  really.  They  always  come  at  the  end  of  lunch. 
Aunt  Caroline  won't  invite  them  to  dinner,  because  then  she 
sometimes  wears  fluffy  things  about  which  she  has  a  foolish 
vanity.  The  collie  is  Angus's.  The  deerhound  is  Hamish's. 
The  dandy  is  hers.  The  two  Kabyles  are  Mohammed's, 
and  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  is  mine.  There's  a  great  deal 
more  of  it  out  of  doors,  but  this  is  all  that  gets  into  the  dining- 
room  except  by  accident.  And  I  expect  you  think  we  are  a 
very  queer  family." 

Stephen  did  think  so,  for  never  till  now  had  he  been  a  mem- 
ber of  a  household  where  each  of  the  servants  was  allowed 
to  possess  any  animals  he  chose,  and  flood  the  house  with 
them.  But  the  .queerer  he  thought  the  family,  the  better  he 
found  himself  liking  it.  He  felt  a  boy  let  out  of  school  after 
weeks  of  disgrace  and  punishment,  and,  strangely  enough, 
this  old  Arab  palace,  in  a  city  of  North  Africa  seemed  more 
like  home  to  him  than  his  London  flat  had  seemed  of  late. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  97 

When  Lady  MacGregor  rose  and  said  she  must  write  the 
note  she  had  promised  Nevill  to  send  Miss  Ray,  Stephen 
longed  to  kiss  her.  This  form  of  worship  not  being  permitted, 
he  tried  to  open  the  dining-room  door  for  her  to  go  out,  but 
Angus  and  Hamish  glared  upon  him  so  superciliously  that 
he  retired  in  their  favour. 

The  luncheon  hour,  even  when  cloaked  in  the  mysterious 
gloom  of  a  thunderstorm,  is  no  time  for  confidences;  besides, 
it  is  not  conducive  to  sustained  conversation  to  find  a  cold 
nose  in  your  palm,  a  baby  claw  up  your  sleeve,  or  a  monkey 
hand,  like  a  bit  of  leather,  thrust  down  your  collar  or  into 
your  ear.  But  after  dinner  that  night,  when  Lady  MacGre- 
gor had  trailed  her  maligned  "  fluffiness  "  away  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Nevill  and  Stephen  had  strolled  with  their  cigarettes 
out  into  the  unearthly  whiteness  of  the  lily  garden,  Stephen 
felt  that  something  was  coming.  He  had  known  that  Nevill 
had  a  story  to  tell,  by  and  by,  and  though  he  knew  also  that  he 
would  be  asked  no  questions  in  return,  now  or  ever,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Nevill's  offer  of  confidences  was  perhaps  meant  to 
open  a  door,  if  he  chose  to  enter  by  it.  He  was  not  sure 
whether  he  would  so  choose  or  not,  but  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  sure  meant  a  change  in  him.  A  few  days  ago,  even  this 
morning,  before  meeting  Nevill,  he  would  have  been  certain 
that  he  had  nothing  intimate  to  tell  Caird  or  any  one  else. 

They  strolled  along  the  paths  among  the  lilies.  Moon  and 
sky  and  flowers  and  white-gravelled  paths  were  all  silver. 
Stephen  thought  of  Victoria  Ray,  and  wished  she  could  see 
this  garden.  He  thought,  too,  that  if  she  would  only  dance 
here  among  the  lilies  in  the  moonlight,  it  would  be  a  vision  of 
exquisite  loveliness. 

"  For  a  moment  white,  then  gone  forever,"  he  caught  himself 
repeating  again. 

It  was  odd  how,  whenever  he  saw  anything  very  white  and 
of  dazzling  purity,  he  thought  of  this  dancing  girl.  He  won- 
dered what  sort  of  woman  it  was  whose  image  came  to  Nevill  '& 


98  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

mind,  in  the  garden  of  lilies  that  smelt  so  heavenly  sweet 
under  the  moon.  He  supposed  there  must  always  be  some 
woman  whose  image  was  suggested  to  every  man  by  all 
that  was  fairest  in  nature.  Margot  Lorenzi  was  the  woman 
whose  image  he  must  keep  in  his  mind,  if  he  wanted  to  know 
any  faint  imitation  of  happiness  in  future.  She  would  like 
this  moonlit  garden,  and  in  one  way  it  would  suit  her  as  a 
background.  Yet  she  did  not  seem  quite  in  the  picture,  despite 
her  beauty.  The  perfume  she  loved  would  not  blend  with  the 
perfume  of  the  lilies. 

"  Aunt  Caroline's  rather  a  dear,  isn't  she  ?  "  remarked  Nevill, 
apropos  of  nothing. 

"  She's  a  jewel,"  said  Stephen. 

"Yet  she  isn't  the  immediate  jewel  of  my  soul.  I'm  hard 
hit,  Stephen,  and  the  girl  won't  have  me.  She's  poorer 
than  any  church  or  other  mouse  I  ever  met,  yet  she  turns 
up  her  little  French  nose  at  me  and  my  palace,  and  all  the 
cheese  I  should  like  to  see  her  nibble  — my  cheese." 

"Her  French  nose?"   echoed   Stephen. 

"Yes.  Her  nose  and  the  rest  of  her's  French,  especially 
her  dimples.  You  never  saw  such  dimples.  Miss  Ray's 
prettier  than  my  girl,  I  suppose.  But  /  think  mine's  beyond 
anything.  Only  she  isn't  and  won't  be  mine  that's  the  worst 
of  it." 

"Where  is  she?"  Stephen  asked.     "In  Algiers?" 

"No  such  luck.  But  her  sister  is.  I'll  take  you  to  see  the 
sister  to-morrow  morning.  She  may  be  able  to  tell  us  some- 
thing to  help  Miss  Ray.  She  keeps  a  curiosity-shop,  and  is 
a  connoisseur  of  Eastern  antiquities,  as  well  as  a  great  char- 
acter in  Algiers,  quite  a  sort  of  queen  in  her  way  —  a  quaint 
way.  All  the  visiting  Royalties  of  every  nation  drop  in  and 
spend  hours  in  her  place.  She  has  a  good  many  Arab 
acquaintances,  too.  Even  rich  chiefs  come  to  sell,  or  buy  things 
from  her,  and  respect  her  immensely.  But  my  girl  —  I  like 
to  call  her  that  —  is  away  off  in  the  west,  close  to  the  border 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  99 

of  Morocco,  at  Tlemcen.  I  wish  you  were  interested  in 
mosques,  and  I'd  take  you  there.  People  who  care  for  such 
things  sometimes  travel  from  London  or  Paris  just  to  see  the 
mosque  of  Sidi  Bou-Medine  and  a  certain  Mirab.  But  I 
suppose  you  haven't  any  fad  of  that  kind,  eh?" 

"  I  feel  it  coming  on,"  said  Stephen. 

"Good  chap!  Do  encourage  the  feeling.  I'll  lend  you 
books,  lots  of  books,  on  the  subject.  She's  'malema,'  or 
mistress  of  an  ecole  indigene  for  embroideries  and  carpets,  at 
Tlemcen.  Heaven  knows  how  few  francs  a  month  she  earns 
by  the  job  which  takes  all  her  time  and  life,  yet  she  thinks 
herself  lucky  to  get  it.  And  she  won't  marry  me." 

"Surely  she  must  love  you,  at  least  a  little,  if  you  care  so 
much  for  her,"  Stephen  tried  to  console  his  friend. 

"Oh,  she  does,  a  lot,"  replied  Nevill  with  infinite  satis- 
faction. "  But,  you  see  —  well,  you  see,  her  family  wasn't 
up  to  much  from  a  social  point  of  view  —  such  rot !  The 
mother  came  out  from  Paris  to  be  a  nursery  governess,  when 
she  was  quite  young,  but  she  was  too  pretty  for  that  position. 
She  had  various  but  virtuous  adventures,  and  married  a  non- 
com,  in  the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique,  who  chucked  the  army  for  her. 
The  two  kept  a  little  hotel.  Then  the  husband  died,  while  the 
girls  were  children.  The  mother  gave  up  the  hotel  and  took 
in  sewing.  Everybody  was  interested  in  the  family,  they  were 
so  clever  and  exceptional,  and  people  helped  in  the  girls'  edu- 
cation. When  their  mother  became  an  invalid,  the  two  con- 
trived to  keep  her  and  themselves,  though  Jeanne  was  only 
eighteen  then,  and  Josette,  my  girl,  fifteen.  She's  been  dead 
now  for  some  years  —  the  mother.  Josette  is  nearly  twenty- 
four.  Do  you  see  why  she  won't  marry  me?  I'm  hanged 
if  I  do." 

"I  can  see  what  her  feeling  is,"  Stephen  said.  "She  must 
be  a  ripping  girl." 

"  I  should  say  she  is !  —  though  as  obstinate  as  the  devil. 
Sometimes  I  could  shake  her  and  box  her  ears.  I  haven't 


100 

seen  her  for  months  now.  She  wouldn't  like  me  to  go  to 
Tlemcen  — :  unless  I  had  a  friend  with  me,  and  a  good  excuse. 
I  didn't  know  it  could  hurt  so  much  to  be  in  love,  though  I 
was  in  once  before,  and  it  hurt  too,  rather.  But  that  was 
nothing.  For  the  woman  had  no  soul  or  mind,  only  her  beauty, 
and  an  unscrupulous  sort  of  ambition  which  made  her  want 
to  marry  me  when  my  uncle  left  me  his  money.  She'd  refused 
to  do  anything  more  serious  than  flirt  and  reduce  me  to  misery, 
until  she  thought  I  could  give  her  what  she  wanted.  I'd 
imagined  myself  horribly  in  love,  until  her  sudden  willingness 
to  take  me  showed  me  once  for  all  what  she  was.  Even  so, 
I  couldn't  cure  the  habit  of  love  at  first;  but  I  had  just  sense 
enough  to  keep  out  of  England,  where  she  was,  for  fear  I 
should  lose  my  head  and  marry  her.  My  cure  was  rather 
slow,  but  it  was  sure;  and  now  I  know  that  what  I  thought 
was  love  then  wasn't  love  at  all.  The  real  thing's  as  different 
as  —  as  —  a  modern  Algerian  tile  is  from  an  old  Moorish 
one.  I  can't  say  anything  stronger!  That's  why  I  cut  Eng- 
land, to  begin  with,  and  after  a  while  my  interests  were  more 
identified  with  France.  Sometimes  I  go  to  Paris  in  the  sum- 
mer —  or  to  a  little  place  in  Dauphiny.  But  I  haven't  been 
back  to  England  for  eight  years.  Algeria  holds  all  my  heart. 
In  Tlemcen  is  my  girl.  Here  are  my  garden  and  my  beasts. 
Now  you  have  my  history  since  Oxford  days." 

"You  know  something  of  my  history  through  the  papers," 
Stephen  blurted  out  with  a  desperate  defiance  of  his  own 
reserve. 

"Not  much  of  your  real  history,  I  think.  Papers  lie,  and 
people  misunderstand.  Don't  talk  of  yourself  unless  you 
really  want  to.  But  I  say,  look  here,  Stephen.  That  woman 
I  thought  I  cared  for — may  I  tell  you  what  she  was  like? 
Somehow  I  want  you  to  know.  Don't  think  me  a  cad.  I 
don't  mean  to  be.  But  — may  I  tell?" 

"Of  course.     Why  not?" 

"She  was  dark  and   awfully  handsome,   and   though   she 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  101 

wasn't  an  actress,  she  would  have  made  a  splendid  one.  She 
thought  only  of  herself.  I  —  there  was  a  picture  in  a  Lon- 
don paper  lately  which  reminded  me  of  her  —  the  picture 
of  a  young  lady  you  know  —  or  think  you  know.  They  — 
those  two  —  are  of  the  same  type.  I  don't  believe  either 
could  make  a  man  happy." 

Stephen  laughed — a  short,  embarrassed  laugh.  "Oh, 
happy!"  he  echoed.  "After  twenty-five  we  learn  not  to 
expect  happiness.  But  —  thank  you  for  —  everything,  and 
especially  for  inviting  me  here."  He  knew  now  why  it  had 
occurred  to  Nevill  to  ask  him  to  Algiers.  Nevill  had  seen 
Margot's  picture.  In  silence  they  walked  towards  the  open 
door  of  the  dining-room.  Somewhere  not  far  away  the  Kabyle 
dogs  were  barking  shrilly.  In  the  distance  rose  and  fell  muf- 
fled notes  of  strange  passion  and  fierceness,  an  Arab  tom-tom 
beating  like  the  heart  of  the  conquered  East,  away  in  the  old 
town. 

Stephen's  short-lived  gaiety  was  struck  out  of  his  soul. 

"For  a  moment  white,  then  gone  forever." 

He  pushed  the  haunting  words  out  of  his  mind.  He  did 
not  want  them  to  have  any  meaning.  They  had  no  meaning. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  perfume  of  the  lilies  was  too  heavy 
on  the  air. 


A  WHITE  peacock,  screaming  in  the  garden  under 
Stephen's  balcony,  waked  him  early,  and  dreamily 
his  thoughts  strayed  towards  the  events  planned  for 
the  day. 

They  were  to  make  a  morning  call  on  Mademoiselle  Soubise 
in  her  curiosity-shop,  and  ask  about  Ben  Halim,  the  husband 
of  Saidee  Ray.  Victoria  was  coming  to  luncheon,  for  she  had 
accepted  Lady  MacGregor's  invitation.  Her  note  had  been 
brought  in  last  night,  while  he  and  Nevill  walked  in  the  garden. 
Afterwards  Lady  MacGregor  had  shown  it  to  them  both.  The 
girl  wrote  an  interesting  hand,  full  of  individuality,  and  expres- 
sive of  decision.  Perhaps  on  her  arrival  they  might  have  some- 
thing to  tell  her. 

This  hope  shot  Stephen  out  of  bed,  though  it  was  only  seven, 
and  breakfast  was  not  until  nine.  He  had  a  cold  bath  in  the 
private  bathroom,  which  was  one  of  Nevill's  modern  improve- 
ments in  the  old  house,  and  by  and  by  went  for  a  walk,  think- 
ing to  have  the  gardens  to  himself .  But  Nevill  was  there,  cut- 
ting flowers  and  whistling  tunefully.  It  was  to  him  that  the 
jewelled  white  peacock  had  screamed  a  greeting. 

"I  like  cutting  the  flowers  myself,"  said  he.  "I  don't  think 
they  care  to  have  others  touch  them,  any  more  than  a  cow  likes 
to  be  milked  by  a  stranger.  Of  course  they  feel  the  difference! 
Why,  they  know  when  I  praise  them,  and  preen  themselves. 
They  curl  up  when  they're  scolded,  or  not  noticed,  just  as  I  do 
when  people  aren't  nice  to  me.  Every  day  I  send  off  a  box 
of  my  best  roses  to  Tlemcen.  She  allows  me  to  do  that." 
Lady  MacGregor  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  which  was 

102 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  103 

served  on  a  marble  loggia;  and  by  half-past  nine  Stephen  and 
Nevill  were  out  in  the  wide,  tree-shaded  streets,  where  masses 
of  bougainvillaea  and  clematis  boiled  over  high  garden-walls  of 
old  plaster,  once  white,  now  streaked  with  gold  and  rose,  and 
green  moss  and  lichen.  After  the  thunderstorm  of  the  day 
before,  the  white  dust  was  laid,  and  the  air  was  pure  with  a 
curious  sparkling  quality. 

They  passed  the  museum  in  its  garden,  and  turned  a 
corner. 

"There's  Mademoiselle  Soubise's  shop,"  said  Nevill. 

It  was  a  low  white  building,  and  had  evidently  been  a  private 
house  at  one  time.  The  only  change  made  had  been  in  the 
shape  and  size  of  the  windows  on  the  ground-floor;  and  these 
were  protected  by  green  persiennes,  fanned  out  like  awnings, 
although  the  house  was  shaded  by  magnolia  trees.  There  was 
no  name  over  the  open  door,  but  the  word  "  Antiquites"  was 
painted  in  large  black  letters  on  the  house-wall. 

Under  the  green  blinds  was  a  glitter  of  jewels  displayed 
among  brocades  and  a  tangle  of  old  lace,  or  on  embossed  silver 
trays;  and  walking  in  at  the  door,  out  of  the  shadowy  dusk, 
a  blaze  of  colour  leaped  to  the  eyes.  Not  a  soul  was  there, 
unless  some  one  hid  and  spied  behind  a  carved  and  gilded 
Tunisian  bed  or  a  marqueterie  screen  from  Bagdad.  Yet 
there  was  a  collection  to  tempt  a  thief,  and  apparently  no  pre- 
caution taken  against  invaders. 

Delicate  rugs,  soft  as  clouds  and  tinted  like  opals,  were 
heaped  in  piles  on  the  tiled  floor;  rugs  from  Ispahan,  rugs  from 
Mecca;  old  rugs  from  the  sacred  city  of  Kairouan,  such  as 
are  made  no  more  there  or  anywhere.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  Tunisian  silks  and  embroidered  stuffs  from  the  homes  of 
Jewish  families,  where  they  had  served  as  screens  for  talismanic 
words  too  sacred  to  be  seen  by  common  eyes;  and  there  was 
drapery  of  ancient  banners,  Tyrian-dyed,  whose  gold  or  silver 
fringes  had  been  stained  with  blood,  in  battle.  From  the  ceil- 
ing were  suspended  antique  lamps,  and  chandeliers  of  rare 


104  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

rock  crystal,  whose  prisms  gave  out  rose  and  violet  sparks  as 
they  caught  the  light. 

On  shelves  and  inlaid  tables  were  beggars'  bowls  of  strange 
dark  woods,  carried  across  deserts  by  wandering  mendicants  of 
centuries  ago,  the  chains,  which  had  hung  from  throats  long 
since  crumbled  into  dust,  adorned  with  lucky  rings  and  fetishes 
to  preserve  the  wearer  from  evil  spirits.  There  were  other 
bowls,  of  crystal  pure  as  full-blown  bubbles,  bowls  which  would 
ring  at  a  tap  like  clear  bells  of  silver.  Some  of  these  were 
guiltless  of  ornament,  some  were  graven  with  gold  flowers,  but 
all  seemed  full  of  lights  reflected  from  tilted,  pearl-framed 
mirrors,  and  from  the  swinging  prisms  of  chandeliers. 

Chafing-dishes  of  bronze  at  which  vanished  hands  had  been 
warmed,  stood  beside  chased  brazen  ewers  made  to  pour  rose- 
water  over  henna-stained  fingers,  after  Arab  dinners,  eaten 
without  knives  or  forks.  In  the  depths  of  half-open  drawers 
glimmered  precious  stones,  strangely  cut  pink  diamonds,  big 
square  turquoises  and  emeralds,  strings  of  creamy  pearls, 
and  hands  of  Fatma,  a  different  jewel  dangling  from  each 
finger-tip. 

The  floor  was  encumbered,  not  only  with  rugs,  but  with  heaps 
of  priceless  tiles,  Persian  and  Moorish,  of  the  best  periods 
and  patterns,  taken  from  the  walls  of  Arab  palaces  now 
destroyed;  huge  brass  salvers;  silver  anklets,  and  chain  armour, 
sabres  captured  from  Crusaders,  and  old  illuminated  Korans. 
It  was  difficult  to  move  without  knocking  something  down, 
and  one  stepped  delicately  in  narrow  aisles,  to  avoid  islands 
of  piled,  precious  objects.  Everywhere  the  eye  was  drawn  to 
glittering  points,  or  patches  of  splendid  colour;  so  that  at  a 
glance  the  large,  dusky  room  was  like  a  temple  decorated 
with  mosaics.  There  was  nothing  that  did  not  suggest  the 
East,  city  or  desert,  or  mountain  village  of  the  Kabyles;  and  the 
air  was  loaded  with  Eastern  perfumes,  ambergris  and  musk 
that  blended  with  each  other,  and  the  scent  of  the  black  incense 
sticks  brought  by  caravan  from  Tombouctou. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  105 

"Why  doesn't  some  one  come  in  and  steal  ?"  asked  Stephen, 
in  surprise  at  seeing  the  place  deserted. 

"Because  there's  hardly  a  thief  in  Algiers  mean  enough  to 
steal  from  Jeanne  Soubise,  who  gives  half  she  has  to  the  poor. 
And  because,  if  there  were  one  so  mean,  Haroun  el  Raschid 
would  soon  let  her  know  what  was  going  on,"  said  Nevill. 
"His  latest  disguise  is  that  of  a  parrot,  but  he  may  change  it 
for  something  else  at  any  moment." 

Then  Stephen  saw,  suspended  among  the  crystal  chandeliers 
and  antique  lamps,  a  brass  cage,  shaped  like  a  domed  palace. 
In  this  cage,  in  a  coral  ring,  sat  a  grey  parrot  who  regarded 
the  two  young  men  with  jewel-eyes  that  seemed  to  know  all 
good  and  evil. 

"He  yells  if  any  stranger  comes  into  the  shop  when  his  mis- 
tress is  out,"  Nevill  explained.  "I  am  an  humble  friend  of 
His  Majesty's,  so  he  says  nothing.  I  gave  him  to  Made- 
moiselle Jeanne." 

Perhaps  their  voices  had  been  heard.  At  all  events,  there 
was  a  light  tapping  of  heels  on  unseen  stairs,  and  from  behind 
a  red-curtained  doorway  appeared  a  tall  young  woman,  dressed 
in  black. 

She  was  robust  as  well  as  tall,  and  Stephen  thought  she  looked 
rather  like  a  handsome  Spanish  boy;  yet  she  was  feminine 
enough  in  her  outlines.  It  was  the  frank  and  daring  expres- 
sion of  her  face  and  great  black  eyes  which  gave  the  look  of 
boyishness.  She  had  thick,  straight  eyebrows,  a  large  mouth 
that  was  beautiful  when  she  smiled,  to  show  perfect  teeth 
between  the  red  lips  that  had  a  faint,  shadowy  line  of  down 
above  them. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Nevill  Caird!"  she  exclaimed,  in  English, 
with  a  full  voice,  and  a  French  accent  that  was  pretty, 
though  not  Parisian.  She  smiled  at  Stephen,  too,  without 
waiting  to  be  introduced.  "Monsieur  Caird  is  always  kind 
in  bringing  his  friends  to  me,  and  I  am  always  glad  to  see 
them." 


106  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"I've  brought  Mr.  Knight,  not  to  buy,  but  to  ask  a  favour," 
said  Nevill. 

"To  buy,  too,"  Stephen  hastened  to  cut  in.  "I  see  things 
I  can't  live  without.  I  must  own  them." 

"  Well,  don't  set  your  heart  on  anything  Mademoiselle  Sou- 
bise  won't  sell.  She  bought  everything  with  the  idea  of  selling 
it,  she  admits,  but  now  she's  got  them  here,  there  are  some 
things  she  can't  make  up  her  mind  to  part  with  at  any  price." 

"  Oh,  only  a  few  tiles  —  and  some  Jewish  embroideries  — 
and  bits  of  jewellery  —  and  a  rug  or  two  or  a  piece  of  pottery  — 
and  maybe  one  copy  of  the  Koran,  and  a  beggar's  bowl," 
Jeanne  Soubise  excused  herself,  hastily  adding  more  and 
more  to  her  list  of  exceptions,  as  her  eyes  roved  wistfully  among 
her  treasures.  "  Oh,  and  an  amphora  just  dug  up  near  Tim- 
gad,  with  Roman  oil  still  inside.  It's  a  beauty.  Will  you 
come  down  to  the  cellar  to  look  at  it  ?  " 

Nevill  thanked  her,  and  reserved  the  pleasure  for  another 
time.  Then  he  inquired  what  was  the  latest  news  from  Made- 
moiselle Josette  at  Tlemcen;  and  when  he  heard  that  there 
was  nothing  new,  he  told  the  lady  of  the  curiosity-shop  what 
was  the  object  of  the  early  visit. 

"  But  of  course  I  have  heard  of  Ben  Halim,  and  I  have  seen 
him,  too,"  she  said;  "  only  it  was  long  ago  —  maybe  ten  years. 
Yes,  I  could  not  have  been  seventeen.  It  is  already  long  that 
he  went  away  from  Algiers,  no  one  knows  where.  Now  he 
is  said  to  be  dead.  Have  you  not  heard  of  him,  Monsieur 
Nevill  ?  You  must  have.  He  lived  at  Djenan  el  Hadj ;  close 
to  the  Jardin  d'Essai.  You  know  the  place  well.  The  new 
rich  Americans,  Madame  Jewett  and  her  daughter,  have  it 
now.  There  was  a  scandal  about  Ben  Halim,  and  then  he  went 
away  —  a  scandal  that  was  mysterious,  because  every  one 
talked  about  it,  yet  no  one  knew  what  had  happened  —  never 
surely  at  least." 

"I  told  you  Mademoiselle  would  be  able  to  give  you  infor- 
mation.' "  exclaimed  Nevill.  "  I  felt  sure  the  name  was  familiar. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  107 

somehow,  though  I  couldn't  think  how.  One  hears  so  many 
Arab  names,  and  generally  there's  a  'Ben'  or  a  'Bou'  some- 
thing or  other,  if  from  the  South." 

" Flan-ben-Flan,"  laughed  Jeanne  Soubise.  "That  means," 
she  explained,  turning  to  Stephen,  "So  and  So,  son  of  So  and 
So.  It  is  strange,  a  young  lady  came  inquiring  about  Ben 
Halim  only  yesterday  afternoon;  such  a  pretty  young  lady. 
I  was  surprised,  but  she  said  they  had  told  her  in  her  hotel  I 
knew  everything  that  had  ever  happened  in  Algiers.  A  nice 
compliment  to  my  age.  I  am  not  so  old  as  that!  But,"  she 
added,  with  a  frank  smile,  "all  the  hotels  and  guides  expect 
commissions  when  they  send  people  to  me.  I  suppose  they 
thought  this  pretty  girl  fair  game,  and  that  once  in  my  place 
she  would  buy.  So  she  did.  She  bought  a  string  of  amber  beads. 
She  liked  the  gold  light  in  them,  and  said  it  seemed  as  if  she 
might  see  a  vision  of  something  or  some  one  she  wanted  to 
find,  if  she  gazed  through  the  beads.  Many  a  good  Mussul- 
man has  said  his  prayers  with  them,  if  that  could  bring  her 
luck." 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  one  another. 

"  Did  she  tell  you  her  name  ?  "  Stephen  asked. 

"But  yes;  she  was  Mees  Ray,  and  named  for  the  dead 
Queen  Victoria  of  England,  I  suppose,  though  American. 
And  she  told  me  other  things.  Her  sister,  she  said,  married 
a  Captain  Ben  Halim  of  the  Spahis,  and  came  with  him  to 
Algiers,  nearly  ten  years  ago.  Now  she  is  looking  for  the 
sister." 

"  We've  met  Miss  Ray,"  said  Nevill.  "  It's  on  her  business 
we've  come.  We  didn't  know  she'd  already  been  to  you, 
but  we  might  have  guessed  some  one  would  send  her.  She 
didn't  lose  much  time." 

"She  wouldn't,"  said  Stephen.     "She  isn't  that  kind." 

"I  knew  nothing  of  the  sister,"  went  on  Mademoiselle 
Soubise.  "I  could  hardly  believe  at  firs*  that  Ben  Halim 
had  an  American  wife.  Then  I  remembered  how  these 


108  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Mohammedan  men  can  hide  their  women,  so  no  one  ever 
knows.  Probably  no  one  ever  did  know,  otherwise  gossip 
would  have  leaked  out.  The  man  may  have  been  jealous  of 
her.  You  see,  I  have  Arab  acquaintances.  I  go  to  visit 
ladies  in  the  harems  sometimes,  and  I  hear  stories  when  any- 
thing exciting  is  talked  of.  You  can't  think  how  word  flies 
from  one  harem  to  another  —  like  a  carrier-pigeon !  This 
could  never  have  been  a  matter  of  gossip  —  though  it  is  true 
I  was  young  at  the  time." 

"You  think,  then,  he  would  have  shut  her  up?"  asked 
Nevill.  "That's  what  I  feared." 

"  But  of  course  he  would  have  shut  her  up  —  with  another 
wife,  perhaps." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Stephen.  "The  poor  child 
has  never  thought  of  that  possibility.  She  says  he  promised 
her  sister  he  would  never  look  at  any  other  woman." 

"Ah,  the  promise  of  an  Arab  in  love!  Perhaps  she  did 
not  know  the  Arabs  —  that  sister.  It  is  only  the  men  of 
princely  families  who  take  but  one  wife.  And  he  would  not 
tell  her  if  he  had  already  looked  at  another  woman.  He 
would  be  sure,  no  matter  how  much  in  love  a  Christian  girl 
might  be,  she  would  not  marry  a  man  who  already  had  a 
wife." 

"  We  might  find  out  that,"  suggested  Stephen. 

"It  would  be  difficult,"  said  the  Frenchwoman.  "I  can 
try,  among  Arabs  I  know,  but  though  they  like  to  chat  with 
Europeans,  they  will  not  answer  questions.  They  resent  that 
we  should  ask  them,  though  they  are  polite.  As  for  you,  if 
you  ask  men,  French  or  Arab,  you  will  learn  nothing.  The 
French  would  not  know.  The  Arabs,  if  they  did,  would  not 
tell.  They  must  not  talk  of  each  other's  wives,  even  among 
themselves,  much  less  to  outsiders.  You  can  ask  an  Arab 
about  anything  else  in  the  world,  but  not  his  wife.  That  is 
the  last  insult." 

"What  a  country!"  Stephen  ejaculated. 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  109 

"I  don't  know  that  it  has  many  more  faults  than  others," 
said  Nevill,  defending  it,  "  only  they're  different." 

"  But  about  the  scandal  that  drove  Ben  Halim  away  ? " 
Stephen  ventured  on. 

"Strange  things  were  whispered  at  the  time,  I  remember, 
because  Ben  Halim  was  a  handsome  man  and  well  known. 
One  looked  twice  at  him  in  his  uniform  when  he  went  by  on 
a  splendid  horse.  I  believe  he  had  been  to  Paris  before  the 
scandal.  What  he  did  afterwards  no  one  can  say.  But  I 
could  not  tell  Mees  Ray  what  I  had  heard  of  that  scandal 
any  more  than  I  would  tell  a  young  girl  that  almost  all  Euro- 
peans who  become  harem  women  are  converted  to  the  religion 
of  Islam,  and  that  very  likely  the  sister  wasn't  Ben  Halim's 
first  wife. " 

"Can  you  tell  us  of  the  scandal,  or  — would  you  rather  not 
talk  of  the  subject?"  Stephen  hesitated. 

"Oh,  I  can  tell  you,  for  it  would  not  hurt  your  feelings. 
People  said  Ben  Halim  flirted  too  much  with  his  Colonel's 
beautiful  French  wife,  who  died  soon  afterwards,  and  her 
husband  killed  himself.  Ben  Halim  had  not  been  considered 
a  good  officer  before.  He  was  too  fond  of  pleasure,  and  a  mad 
gambler;  so  at  last  it  was  made  known  to  him  he  had  better 
leave  the  army  of  his  own  accord  if  he  did  not  wish  to  go  against 
his  will;  at  least,  that  was  the  story." 

"Of  course!"  exclaimed  Nevill.  "It  comes  back  to  me  now, 
though  it  all  happened  before  I  lived  in  Algiers.  Ben  Halim 
sold  his  house  and  everything  in  it  to  a  Frenchman  who  went 
bankrupt  soon  after.  It's  passed  through  several  hands  since. 
I  go  occasionally  to  call  on  Mrs.  Jewett  and  her  daughter." 

"It  is  said  they  wish  you  would  call  oftener,  Monsieur 
Caird." 

Nevill  turned  red.  Stephen  thought  he  could  understand, 
and  hid  a  smile.  No  doubt  Nevill  was  a  great  "catch"  in 
Algerian  society.  And  he  was  in  love  with  a  teacher  of  Arab 
children  far  away  in  Tlemcen,  a  girl  "poor  as  a  church  mouse," 


110  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

who  wouldn't  listen  to  him!     It  was  a  quaint  world;  as  quaint 
in  Africa  as  elsewhere. 

"What  did  you  tell  Miss  Ray?"  Nevill  hurried  to  ask. 
"  That  Ben  Halim  had  left  Algiers  nine  years  ago,  and  had 
never  been  heard  of  since.  When  I  saw  she  did  not  love  his 
memory,  I  told  her  people  believed  him  to  be  dead;  and  this 
rumour  might  be  true,  as  no  news  of  him  has  ever  come  back 
But  she  turned  pale,  and  I  was  sorry  I  had  been  so  frank. 
Yet  what  would  you  ?  Oh,  and  I  thought  of  one  more  thing, 
when  she  had  gone,  which  I  might  have  mentioned.  But 
perhaps  there  is  nothing  in  it.  All  the  rest  of  the  day  I  was 
busy  with  many  customers,  so  I  was  tired  at  night,  otherwise 
I  would  have  sent  a  note  to  her  hotel.  And  this  morning 
since  six  I  have  been  hurrying  to  get  off  boxes  and  things 
ordered  by  some  Americans  for  a  ship  which  sails  at  noon. 
But  you  will  tell  the  young  lady  when  you  see  her,  and  that 
will  be  better  than  my  writing,  because  sending  a  note  would 
make  it  seem  too  important.  She  might  build  hopes,  and  it 
would  be  a  pity  if  they  did  explode." 

Both  men  laughed  a  little  at  this  ending  of  the  French- 
woman's sentence,  but  Stephen  was  more  impatient  than 
Nevill  to  know  what  was  to  come  next.  He  grudged  the 
pause,  and  made  her  go  on. 

"It  is  only  that  I  remember  my  sister  telling  me,  when  she 
was  at  home  last  year  for  a  holiday,  about  a  Kabyle  servant 
girl  who  waits  on  her  in  Tlemcen.  The  girl  is  of  a  great 
intelligence,  and  my  sister  takes  an  interest  in  her.  Josette 
teaches  her  many  things,  and  they  talk.  Mouni  —  that  is  the 
Kabyle's  name  —  tells  of  her  home  life  to  my  sister.  One 
thing  she  did  was  to  serve  a  beautiful  foreign  lady  in  the  house 
of  a  rich  Arab.  She  was  only  a  child  then,  not  more  than 
thirteen,  for  such  girls  grow  up  early;  but  she  has  always 
thought  about  that  lady,  who  was  good  to  her,  and  very  sad. 
Mouni  told  Josette  she  had  never  seen  any  one  so  beautiful,  and 
that  her  mistress  had  hair  of  a  natural  colour,  redder  than  hair 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  111 

dyed  with  henna  and  powdered  with  gold  dust.  It  was  this 
describing  of  the  hair  which  brought  the  story  back  to  my  head 
when  Miss  Ray  had  gone,  because  she  has  hair  like  that,  and 
perhaps  her  sister  had  it  too." 

"By  Jove,  we'll  run  over  to  Tlemcen  in  the  car,  and  see 
that  Kabyle  girl,"  Nevill  eagerly  proposed,  carefully  looking 
at  his  friend,  and  not  at  Jeanne  Soubise.  But  she  raised  her 
eyebrows,  then  drew  them  together,  and  her  frank  manner 
changed.  With  that  shadow  of  a  frown,  and  smileless  eyes  and 
lips,  there  was  something  rather  formidable  about  the  hand- 
some young  woman. 

"Mees  Ray  may  like  to  manage  all  her  own  beesiness," 
she  remarked.  And  it  occurred  to  Stephen  that  it  would  be  a 
propitious  moment  to  choose  such  curios  as  he  wished  to  buy. 
In  a  few  moments  Mademoiselle  Soubise  was  her  pleasant 
self  again,  indicating  the  best  points  of  the  things  he  admired, 
and  giving  him  their  history. 

"There's  apparently  a  conspiracy  of  silence  to  keep  us  from 
finding  out  anything  about  Miss  Ray's  sister  as  Ben  Halim's 
wife,"  he  said  to  Nevill  when  they  had  left  the  curiosity-shop. 
"Also,  what  has  become  of  Ben  Halim. " 

"You'll  learn  that  there's  always  a  conspiracy  of  silence  in 
Africa,  where  Arabs  are  concerned,"  Nevill  answered.  There 
was  a  far-off,  fatal  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  those  blue  eyes 
which  seemed  at  all  times  to  see  something  that  others  could 
not  see.  And  again  the  sense  of  an  intangible,  illusive,  yet 
very  real  mystery  of  the  East,  which  he  had  felt  for  a  moment 
before  landing,  oppressed  Stephen,  as  if  he  had  inhaled  too 
much  smoke  from  the  black  incense  of  Tombouctou. 


XI 


STEPHEN    and    Nevill    Caird    were    in    the    cypress 
avenue  when  Victoria  Ray  drove  up  in  a  ramshackle 
cab,  guided  by  an  Arab   driver   who   squinted   hid- 
eously.    She  wore  a  white  frock   which  might  have 
cost  a  sovereign/and  had  probably  been  made  at  home.     Her 
wide  brimmed  hat  was  of  cheap  straw,  wound  with  a  scarf 
of  thin  white  muslin;  but  her  eyes  looked  out  like  blue  stars 
from  under  its  dove-coloured  shadow,  and  a  lily  was  tucked 
into  her  belt.     To  both  young  men  she  seemed  very  beau- 
tiful, and  radiant  as  the  spring  morning. 

"You  aren't  superstitious,  engaging  a  man  with  a  squint," 
said  Nevill. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  laughed.  "As  if  harm  could  come  to 
me  because  the  poor  man's  so  homely!  I  engaged  him  because 
he  was  the  worst  looking,  and  nobody  else  seemed  to  want 
him." 

They  escorted  her  indoors  to  Lady  MacGregor,  and  Stephen 
wondered  if  she  would  be  afraid  of  the  elderly  fairy  with  the 
face  of  a  child  and  the  manner  of  an  autocrat.  But  she  was 
not  in  the  least  shy;  and  indeed  Stephen  could  hardly  picture 
the  girl  as  being  self-conscious  in  any  circumstances.  Lady 
MacGregor  took  her  in  with  one  look;  white  hat,  red  hair, 
blue  eyes,  lily  at  belt,  simple  frock  and  all,  and  —  somewhat 
to  Stephen's  surprise,  because  she  was  to  him  a  new  type  of 
old  lady  —  decided  to  be  charmed  with  Miss  Ray. 

Victoria's  naive  admiration  of  the  house  and  gardens 
delighted  her  host  and  hostess.  She  could  not  be  too  much 
astonished  at  its.  wonders  to  please  them,  and,  both  being 

112 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  113 

thoroughbred,  they  liked  her  the  better  for  saying  frankly 
that  she  was  unused  to  beautiful  houses.  "You  can't  think 
what  this  is  like  after  school  in  Potterston  and  cheap  boarding- 
houses  in  New  York  and  London,"  she  said,  laughing  when  the 
others  laughed. 

Stephen  was  longing  to  see  her  in  the  lily-garden,  which, 
to  his  mind,  might  have  been  made  for  her;  and  after  luncheon 
he  asked  Lady  MacGregor  if  he  and  Nevill  might  show  it  to 
Miss  Ray. 

The  garden  lay  to  the  east,  and  as  it  was  shadowed  by  the 
house  in  the  afternoon,  it  would  not  be  too  hot. 

"Perhaps  you  won't  mind  taking  her  yourself,"  said  the 
elderly  fairy.  "  Just  for  a  few  wee  minutes  I  want  Nevill. 
He  is  to  tell  me  about  accepting  or  refusing  some  invitations. 
I'll  send  him  to  you  soon." 

Stephen  was  ashamed  of  the  gladness  with  which  he  could 
not  help  hearing  this  proposal.  He  had  nothing  to  say  to  the 
girl  which  he  might  not  say  before  Nevill,  or  even  before  Lady 
MacGregor,  yet  he  had  been  feeling  cheated  because  he  could 
not  be  alone  with  Victoria,  as  on  the  boat. 

"  Gather  Miss  Ray  as  many  lilies  as  she  can  carry  away," 
were  Nevill's  parting  instructions.  And  it  was  exactly  what 
Stephen  had  wished  for.  He  wanted  to  give  her  something 
beautiful  and  appropriate,  something  he  could  give  with  his 
own  hands.  And  he  longed  to  see  her  holding  masses  of  white 
lilies  to  her  breast,  as  she  walked  all  white  in  the  white  lily- 
garden.  Now,  too,  he  could  tell  her  what  Mademoiselle  Soubise 
had  said  about  the  Kabyle  girl,  Mouni.  He  was  sure  Nevill 
wouldn't  grudge  his  having  that  pleasure  all  to  himself.  Any- 
way he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  snatch  it. 

He  began,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone  together  in  the  garden, 
by  asking  her  what  she  had  done,  whether  she  had  made 
progress;  and  it  seemed  that  she  retired  from  his  questions 
with  a  vague  suggestion  of  reserve  she  had  not  shown  on  the 
ship.  It  was  not  that  she  answered  unwillingly,  but  he  could 


114  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

not  define  the  difference  in  her  manner,  although  he  felt  that 
a  difference  existed. 

It  was  as  if  somebody  might  have  been  scolding  her  for  a 
lack  of  reserve;  yet  when  he  inquired  if  she  had  met  any  one  she 
knew,  or  made  acquaintances,  she  said  no  to  the  first  question, 
and  named  only  Mademoiselle  Soubise  in  reply  to  the  second. 

That  was  Stephen's  opportunity,  and  he  began  to  tell  of  his 
call  at  the  curiosity-shop.  He  expected  Victoria  to  cry  out 
with  excitement  when  he  came  to  Mouni's  description  of  the 
beautiful  lady  with  "henna-coloured,  gold-powdered  hair"; 
but  though  she  flushed  and  her  breath  came  and  went  quickly 
as  he  talked,  somehow  the  girl  did  not  appear  to  be  enrap- 
tured with  a  new  hope,  as  he  had  expected. 

"My  friend  Caird  proposes  that  he  and  I  should  motor  to 
Tlemcen,  which  it  seems  is  near  the  Moroccan  border,  and 
interview  Mouni,"  he  said.  "We  may  be  able  to  make  sure, 
when  we  question  her,  that  it  was  your  sister  she  served;  and 
perhaps  we  can  pick  up  some  clue  through  what  she  lets  drop, 
as  to  where  Ben  Halim  took  his  wife  when  he  left  Algiers  — 
though,  of  course,  there  are  lots  of  other  ways  to  find  out,  if 
this  should  prove  a  false  clue." 

"You  are  both  more  than  good,"  Victoria  answered,  "but  I 
mustn't  let  you  go  so  far  for  me.  Perhaps,  as  you  say,  I  shall 
be  able  to  find  out  in  other  ways,  from  some  one  here  in  Algiers. 
It  does  sound  as  if  it  might  be  my  sister  the  maid  spoke  of  to 
Mademoiselle  Soubise.  How  I  should  love  to  hear  Mouni 
talk !  —  but  you  must  wait,  and  see  what  happens,  before 
you  think  of  going  on  a  journey  for  my  sake." 

"If  only  there  were  some  woman  to  take  you,  you  might 
go  with  us,"  said  Stephen,  more  eagerly  than  he  was  aware, 
and  thinking  wild  thoughts  about  Lady  MacGregor  as  a 
chaperon,  or  perhaps  Mademoiselle  Soubise  —  if  only  she  could 
be  persuaded  to  leave  her  beloved  shop,  and  wouldn't  draw 
those  black  brows  of  hers  together  as  though  tabooing  a  for- 
bidden idea. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  115 

A  Let's  wait  —  and  see,"  Victoria  repeated.  And  this 
patience,  in  the  face  of  such  hope,  struck  Stephen  as  being 
strange  in  her,  unlike  his  conception  of  the  brave,  impulsive 
nature,  ready  for  any  adventure  if  only  there  were  a  faint  flicker 
of  light  at  the  end.  Then,  as  if  she  did  not  wish  to  talk  longer 
of  a  possible  visit  to  Tlemcen,  Victoria  said :  "  I've  something 
to  show  you:  a  picture  of  my  sister." 

The  white  dress  was  made  without  a  collar,  and  was  wrapped 
across  her  breast  like  a  fichu  which  left  the  slender  white  stem 
of  her  throat  uncovered.  Now  she  drew  out  from  under  the 
muslin  folds  a  thin  gold  chain,  from  which  dangled  a  flat,  open- 
faced  locket.  When  she  had  unfastened  a  clasp,  she  handed 
the  trinket  to  Stephen.  "Saidee  had  the  photograph  made 
specially  for  me,  just  before  she  was  married,"  the  girl  ex- 
plained, "  and  I  painted  it  myself.  I  couldn't  trust  any  one  else, 
because  no  one  knew  her  colouring.  Of  course,  she  was  a  hun- 
dred times  more  beautiful  than  this,  but  it  gives  you  some  idea 
of  her,  as  she  looked  when  I  saw  her  last." 

The  face  in  the  photograph  was  small,  not  much  larger  than 
Stephen's  thumb-nail,  but  every  feature  was  distinct,  not  unlike 
Victoria's,  though  more  pronounced;  and  the  nose,  seen  almost 
in  profile,  was  perfect  in  its  delicate  straightness.  The  lips 
were  fuller  than  Victoria's,  and  red  as  coral.  The  eyes  were 
brown,  with  a  suggestion  of  coquetry  absent  in  the  younger 
girl's,  and  the  hair,  parted  in  the  middle  and  worn  in  a  loose, 
wavy  coil,  appeared  to  be  of  a  darker  red,  less  golden,  more 
auburn. 

"That's  exactly  Saidee's  colouring,"  repeated  Victoria. 
"Her  lips  were  the  reddest  I  ever  saw,  and  I  used  to  say  dia- 
monds had  got  caught  behind  her  eyes.  Do  you  wonder  I 
worshipped  her  —  that  I  just  couldn't  let  her  go  out  of  my  life 
forever  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't  wonder.  She's  very  lovely,"  Stephen  agreed. 
The  coquetry  in  the  eyes  was  pathetic  to  him,  knowing  the 
beautiful  Saidee's  history. 


116  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"She  was  eighteen  then.  She's  twenty-eight  now.  Saidee 
twenty-eight!  I  can  hardly  realize  it.  But  I'm  sure  she  hasn't 
changed,  unless  to  grow  prettier.  I  used  always  to  think  she 
would."  Victoria  took  back  the  portrait,  and  gazed  at  it. 
Stephen  was  sorry  for  the  child.  He  thought  it  more  than 
likely  that  Saidee  had  changed  for  the  worse,  physically  and 
spiritually,  even  mentally,  if  Mademoiselle  Soubise  were 
right  in  her  surmises.  He  was  glad  she  had  not  said  to  Vic- 
toria what  she  had  said  to  him,  about  Saidee  having  to  live  the 
life  of  other  harem  women. 

"  I  bought  a  string  of  amber  beads  at  that  curiosity-shop  yes- 
terday," the  girl  went  on,  "because  there's  a  light  in  them 
like  what  used  to  be  in  Saidee's  eyes.  Every  night,  when 
I've  said  my  prayers  and  am  ready  to  go  to  sleep,  I  see 
her  in  that  golden  silence  I  told  you  about,  looking  towards 
the  west  —  that  is,  towards  me,  too,  you  know;  with  the  sun 
setting  and  streaming  right  into  her  eyes,  making  that  jewelled 
kind  of  light  gleam  in  them,  which  comes  and  goes  in  those 
amber  beads.  When  I  find  her,  I  shall  hold  up  the  beads  to 
her  eyes  in  the  sunlight  and  compare  them." 

"What  is  the  golden  silence  like?"  asked  Stephen.  "Do 
you  see  more  clearly,  now  that  at  last  you've  come  to  Africa  ? " 

"I  couldn't  see  more  clearly  than  I  did  before,"  the  girl 
answered  slowly,  looking  away  from  him,  through  the  green 
lace  of  the  trees  that  veiled  the  distance.  "Yet  it's  just  as 
mysterious  as  ever.  I  can't  guess  yet  what  it  can  be,  unless 
it's  in  the  desert.  I  just  see  Saidee,  standing  on  a  large,  flat 
expanse  which  looks  white.  And  she's  dressed  in  white. 
All  round  her  is  a  quivering  golden  haze,  wave  after  wave  of  it, 
endless  as  the  sea  when  you're  on  a  ship.  And  there's  silence 
—  not  one  sound,  except  the  beating  which  must  be  my  own 
heart,  or  the  blood  that  sings  in  my  ears  when  I  listen  for  a  long 
time  —  the  kind  of  singing  you  hear  in  a  shell.  That's  all. 
And  the  level  sun  shining  in  her  eyes,  and  on  her  hair." 

"It  is  a  picftftte,"  said 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  117 

"Wherever  Say  was,  there  would  always  be  a  picture." 
Victoria  said  with  the  unselfish,  unashamed  pride  she  had  in 
her  sister. 

"How  I  hope  Saidee  knows  I'm  near  her,"  she  went  on, 
half  to  herself.  "She'd  know  that  I'd  come  to  her  as  soon 
as  I  could  —  and  she  may  have  heard  things  about  me  that 
would  tell  her  I  was  trying  to  make  money  enough  for  the 
journey  and  everything.  If  I  hadn't  hoped  she  might  see  the 
magazines  and  papers,  I  could  never  have  let  my  photograph 
be  published.  I  should  have  hated  that,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
the  thought  of  the  portraits  coming  to  her  eyes,  with  my  name 
under  them;  'Victoria  Ray,  who  is  dancing  in  such  and  such 
a  place.'  She  would  know  why  I  was  doing  it;  dancing  nearer 
and  nearer  to  her." 

"You  darling!"  Stephen  would  have  liked  to  say.  But 
only  as  he  might  have  spoken  caressingly  to  a  lovely  child  whose 
sweet  soul  had  won  him.  She  seemed  younger  than  ever 
to-day,  in  the  big,  drooping  hat,  with  the  light  behind  her 
weaving  a  gold  halo  round  her  hair  and  the  slim  white  figure, 
as  she  talked  of  Saidee  in  the  golden  silence.  When  she  looked 
up  at  him,  he  thought  that  she  was  like  a  girl-saint,  painted 
on  a  background  of  gold.  He  felt  very  tender  over  her,  very 
much  older  than  she,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might 
fall  in  love  with  this  young  creature  who  had  no  thought  for 
anything  in  life  except  the  finding  of  her  sister. 

A  tiny  streak  of  lily-pollen  had  made  a  little  yellow  stain  on 
the  white  satin  of  her  cheek,  and  under  her  blue  eyes  were  a 
few  faint  freckles,  golden  as  the  lily-pollen.  He  had  seen  them 
come  yesterday,  on  the  ship,  in  a  bright  glare  of  sunlight,  and 
they  were  not  quite  gone  yet.  He  had  a  foolish  wish  to  touch 
them  with  his  finger,  to  see  if  they  would  rub  off,  and  to  brush 
away  the  lily-pollen,  though  it  made  her  skin  look  pure  as 
pearl. 

"You  are  an  inspiration!"  was  all  he  said. 

"I?     But  how  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 


118  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

He  hardly  knew  that  he  had  spoken  aloud;  yet  challenged, 
he  tried  to  explain.  "Inspiration  to  new  life  and  faith  in 
things,"  he  answered  almost  at  random.  But  hearing  the 
words  pronounced  by  his  own  voice,  made  him  realize  that 
they  were  true.  This  child,  of  whose  existence  he  had  not 
known  a  week  ago,  could  give  him  —  perhaps  was  already 
giving  him  —  new  faith  and  new  interests.  He  felt  thankful 
for  her,  somehow,  though  she  did  not  belong  to  him,  and 
never  would  —  unless  a  gleam  of  sunshine  can  belong  to  one  on 
whom  it  shines.  And  he  would  always  associate  her  with  the 
golden  sunshine  and  the  magic  charm  of  Algeria. 

"I  told  you  I'd  given  you  half  my  star,"  she  said,  laughing 
and  blushing  a  little. 

"Which  star  is  it?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "When  I  don't 
see  you  any  more,  I  can  look  up  and  hitch  my  thought-wagon 
to  Mars  or  Venus." 

"Oh,  it's  even  grander  than  any  planet  you  can  see,  with 
your  real  eyes.  But  you  can  look  at  the  evening  star  if  you 
like.  It's  so  thrilling  in  the  sunset  sky,  I  sometimes  call  it 
my  star." 

"All  right,"  said  Stephen,  with  his  elder-brother  air.  "And 
when  I  look  I'll  think  of  you." 

"You  can  think  of  me  as  being  with  Saidee  at  last." 

"You  have  the  strongest  presentiment  that  you'll  find  hei 
without  difficulty." 

"When/  say  'presentiment,'  I  mean  creating  a  thing  I  want, 
making  a  picture  of  it  happening,  so  it  has  to  happen  by  and 
by,  as  God  made  pictures  of  this  world,  and  all  the  worlds, 
and  they  came  true." 

"By  Jove,  I  wish  I  could  go  to  school  to  you!"  Stephen 
said  this  laughing;  but  he  meant  every  word.  She  had  just 
given  him  two  new  ideas.  He  wondered  if  he  could  do  any- 
thing with  them.  Yet  no;  his  life  was  cut  out  on  a  certain  plan. 
It  must  now  follow  that  plan. 

"If  you  should  have  any  trouble — not  that  you  will  — 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  119 

but  just  'if,'  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "and  if  I  could  help  you, 
I  want  you  to  remember  this,  wherever  you  are  and  whatever 
the  trouble  may  be;  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  — 
nothing.  There's  no  distance  I  wouldn't  travel." 

"Why,  you're  the  kindest  man  I  ever  met!"  Victoria  ex- 
claimed, gratefully.  "And  I  think  you  must  be  one  of  the 
best." 

"Good  heavens,  what  a  character  to  live  up  to!"  laughed 
Stephen.  Nevertheless  he  suddenly  lost  his  sense  of  exalta- 
tion, and  felt  sad  and  tired,  thinking  of  life  with  Margot,  and 
how  difficult  it  would  be  not  to  degenerate  in  her  society. 

"Yes.  It's  a  good  character.  And  I'll  promise  to  let  you 
know,  if  I'm  in  any  trouble  and  need  help.  If  I  can't  write, 
I'll  call,  as  I  said  yesterday." 

"Good.  I  shall  hear  you  over  the  wireless  telephone." 
They  both  laughed ;  and  Nevill  Caird,  coming  out  of  the  house 
was  pleased  that  Stephen  should  be  happy. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  while  helping  his  aunt  with  the  invi- 
tations, that  something  of  interest  to  Miss  Ray  might  be  learned 
at  the  Governor's  house.  He  knew  the  Governor  more  or  less, 
in  a  social  way.  Now  he  asked  Victoria  if  she  would  like  him 
to  make  inquiries  about  Ben  Halim's  past  as  a  Spahi  ? 

"I've  already  been  to  the  Governor,"  replied  Victoria.  "I 
got  a  letter  to  him  from  the  American  Consul,  and  had  a  little 
audience  with  him  —  is  that  what  I  ought  to  call  it  ?  —  this 
morning.  He  was  kind,  but  could  tell  me  nothing  I  didn't 
know  —  any  way,  he  would  tell  nothing  more.  He  wasn't  in 
Algiers  when  Saidee  came.  It  was  in  the  day  of  his  predecessor." 

Nevill  admired  her  promptness  and  energy,  and  said  so. 
He  shared  Stephen's  chivalrous  wish  to  do  something  for  the 
girl,  so  alone,  so  courageous,  working  against  difficulties  she 
had  not  begun  to  understand.  He  was  sorry  that  he  had 
had  no  hand  in  helping  Victoria  to  see  the  most  important 
Frenchman  in  Algiers,  a  man  of  generous  sympathy  for  Arabs; 
but  as  he  had  been  forestalled,  he  hastened  to  think  of  some- 


120  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

thing  else  which  he  might  do.  He  knew  the  house  Ben  Halim 
had  owned  in  Algiers,  the  place  which  must  have  been  her 
sister's  home.  The  people  who  lived  there  now  were  acquain- 
tances of  his.  Would  she  like  to  see  Djenan  el  Hadj  ? 

The  suggestion  pleased  her  so  much  that  Stephen  found  him- 
self envying  Nevill  her  gratitude.  And  it  was  arranged  that 
Mrs.  Jewett  should  be  asked  to  appoint  an  hour  for  a  visit  next 
day. 


XII 


WHILE  Victoria  was  still  in  the  lily-garden  with  her 
host  and  his  friend,  the  cab  which  she  had  ordered  to 
return  came  back  to  fetch  her.  It  was  early,  and 
Lady  MacGregor  had  expected  her  to  stop  for  tea,  as 
most  people  did  stop,  who  visited  Djenan  el  Djouad  for  the  first 
time,  because  every  one  wished  to  see  the  house;  and  to  see  the 
house  took  hours.  But  the  dancing-girl,  appearing  slightly  em- 
barrassed as  she  expressed  her  regrets,  said  that  she  must  go; 
she  had  to  keep  an  engagement.  She  did  not  explain  what 
the  engagement  was,  and  as  she  betrayed  constraint  in  speak- 
ing of  it,  both  Stephen  and  Nevill  guessed  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  explain.  They  took  it  for  granted  that  it  was  something  to 
do  with  her  sister's  affairs,  something  which  she  considered  of 
importance;  otherwise,  as  she  had  no  friends  in  Algiers,  and 
Lady  MacGregor  was  putting  herself  out  to  be  kind,  the  girl 
would  have  been  pleased  to  spend  an  afternoon  with  those  to 
whom  she  could  talk  freely.  No  questions  could  be  asked, 
though,  as  Lady  MacGregor  remarked  when  Victoria  had 
gone  (after  christening  the  baby  panther) ,  it  did  seem  ridiculous 
that  a  child  should  be  allowed  to  make  its  own  plans  and  carry 
them  out  alone  in  a  place  like  Algiers,  without  having  any 
advice  from  its  elders. 

"I've  been,  and  expect  to  go  on  being,  what  you  might  call 
a  perpetual  chaperon,"  said  she  resignedly;  "and  chaperoning 
is  so  ingrained  in  my  nature  that  I  hate  to  see  a  baby  running 
about  unprotected,  doing  what  it  chooses,  as  if  it  were  a  married 
woman,  not  to  say  a  widow.  But  I  suppose  it  can't  be  stopped." 
"She's  been  on  the  stage,"  said  Nevill  reassuringly,  Miss 

121 


122  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Ray  having  already  broken  this  hard  fact  to  the  Scotch  lady 
at  luncheon. 

"I  tell  you  it's  a  baby!  Even  John  Knox  would  see  that," 
sharply  replied  Aunt  Caroline. 

There  was  nothing  better  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon, Nevill  thought,  than  to  take  a  spin  in  the  motor,  which 
they  did,  the  chauffeur  at  the  wheel,  as  Nevill  confessed  him- 
self of  too  lazy  a  turn  of  mind  to  care  for  driving  his  own  car. 
While  Stephen  waited  outside,  he  called  at  Djenan  el  Hadj 
(an  old  Arab  house  at  a  little  distance  from  the  town,  buried 
deep  in  a  beautiful  garden),  but  the  ladies  were  out.  Nevill 
wrote  a  note  on  his  card,  explaining  that  his  aunt  would  like 
to  bring  a  friend,  whose  relatives  had  once  lived  in  the  house; 
and  this  done,  they  had  a  swift  run  about  the  beautiful  country 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Algiers. 

It  was  dinner-time  when  they  returned,  and  meanwhile  an 
answer  had  come  from  Mrs.  Jewett.  She  would  be  delighted 
to  see  any  friend  of  Lady  MacGregor's,  and  hoped  Miss  Ray 
might  be  brought  to  tea  the  following  afternoon. 

"Shall  we  send  a  note  to  her  hotel,  or  shall  we  stroll  down 
after  dinner?"  asked  Nevill. 

"Suppose  we  stroll  down,"  Stephen  decided,  trying  to  ap- 
pear indifferent,  though  he  was  ridiculously  pleased  at  the  idea 
of  having  a  few  unexpected  words  with  Victoria. 

"Good.  We  might  take  a  look  at  the  Kasbah  afterward." 
said  Nevill.  "Night's  the  time  when  it's  most  mysterious, 
and  we  shall  be  close  to  the  old  town  when  we  leave  Miss  Ray's 
hotel." 

Dinner  seemed  long  to  Stephen.  He  could  have  spared 
several  courses.  Nevertheless,  though  they  sat  down  at  eight, 
it  was  only  nine  when  they  started  out.  Up  on  the  hill  of  Mus- 
tapha  Superieur,  all  was  peaceful  under  the  moonlight;  but 
below,  in  the  streets  of  French  shops  and  cafes,  the  light- 
hearted  people  of  the  South  were  ready  to  begin  enjoying  them- 
selves after  a  day  of  work.  Streams  of  electric  light  poured 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  123 

from  restaurant  windows,  and  good  smells  of  French  cooking 
filtered  out,  as  doors  opened  and  shut.  The  native  cafes  were 
crowded  with  dark  men  smoking  chibouques,  eating  kous-kous, 
playing  dominoes,  or  sipping  absinthe  and  golden  liqueurs  which, 
fortunately  not  having  been  invented  in  the  Prophet's  time,  had 
not  been  forbidden  by  him.  Curio  shops  and  bazaars  for 
native  jewellery  and  brasswork  were  still  open,  lit  up  with  pink 
and  yellow  lamps.  The  brilliant  uniforms  of  young  Spahis 
and  Zouaves  made  spots  of  vivid  colour  among  the  dark  clothes 
of  Europeans,  tourists,  or  employe's  in  commercial  houses  out 
for  amusement.  Sailors  of  different  nations  swung  along  arm 
in  arm,  laughing  and  ogling  the  handsome  Jewesses  and 
painted  ladies  from  the  Levant  or  Marseilles.  American 
girls  just  arrived  on  big  ships  took  care  of  their  chaperons  and 
gazed  with  interest  at  the  passing  show,  especially  at  the  mag- 
nificent Arabs  who  appeared  to  float  rather  than  walk,  looking 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  their  white  burnouses  blowing  behind 
them.  The  girls  stared  eagerly,  too,  at  the  few  veiled  and 
swathed  figures  of  native  women  who  mingled  with  the  crowd, 
padding  timidly  with  bare  feet  thrust  into  slippers.  The 
foreigners  mistook  them  no  doubt  for  Arab  ladies,  not  know- 
ing that  ladies  never  walk;  and  were  but  little  interested  in  the 
old,  unveiled  women  with  chocolate-coloured  faces,  who  begged, 
or  tried  to  sell  picture-postcards.  The  arcaded  streets  were 
full  of  light  and  laughter,  noise  of  voices,  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs,  carriage-wheels,  and  tramcars,  bells  of  bicycles  and 
horns  of  motors.  The  scene  was  as  gay  as  any  Paris  boulevard, 
and  far  more  picturesque  because  of  the  older,  Eastern  civi- 
lization in  the  midst  of,  though  never  part  of,  an  imported 
European  life  —  the  flitting  white  and  brown  figures,  like 
thronging  ghosts  outnumbering  the  guests  at  a  banquet. 

Stephen  and  Nevill  Caird  went  up  the  Rue  Bab-el-Oued, 
leading  to  the  old  town,  and  so  came  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah, 
where  Victoria  Ray  was  staying.  It  looked  more  attractive 
at  night,  with  its  blaze  of  electricity  that  threw  out  the  Oriental 


124  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

colouring  of  some  crude  decorations  in  the  entrance-hall,  yet 
the  place  appeared  less  than  ever  suited  to  Victoria. 

An  Arab  porter  stood  at  the  door,  smoking  a  cigarette.  His 
fingers  were  stained  with  henna,  and  Jie  wore  an  embroidered 
jacket  which  showed  grease-spots  and  untidy  creases.  It 
was  with  the  calmest  indifference  he  eyed  the  Englishmen,  as 
Nevill  inquired  in  French  for  Miss  Ray. 

The  question  whether  she  were  "at  home"  was  conven- 
tionally put,  for  it  seemed  practically  certain  that  she  must  be 
in  the  hotel.  Where  could  she,  who  had  no  other  friends  than 
they,  and  no  chaperon,  go  at  night?  It  was  with  blank  sur- 
prise, therefore,  that  he  and  Stephen  heard  the  man's  answer. 
Mademoiselle  was  out. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Stephen  muttered  in  English,  to  Nevill. 

The  porter  understood,  and  looked  sulky.  "I  tell  ze  troot," 
he  persisted.  "Ze  gentlemens  no  believe,  zay  ask  some  ozzer." 

They  took  him  at  his  word,  and  walked  past  the  Arab  into 
the  hotel.  A  few  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards  of  inferior  type 
were  in  the  hall,  and  at  the  back,  near  a  stairway  made  of  the 
cheapest  marble,  was  a  window  labelled  "Bureau."  Behind 
this  window,  in  a  cagelike  room,  sat  the  proprietor  at  a  desk, 
adding  up  figures  in  a  large  book.  He  was  very  fat,  and  his 
chins  went  all  the  way  round  his  neck  in  grooves,  as  if  his  thick 
throat  might  pull  out  like  an  accordion.  There  was  some- 
thing curiously  exotic  about  him,  as  there  is  in  persons  of  mixed 
races;  an  olive  pallor  of  skin,  an  oiliness  of  black  hair,  and  a 
jetty  brightness  of  eye  under  heavy  lids. 

This  time  it  was  Stephen  who  asked  for  Miss  Ray;  but  he 
was  given  the  same  answer.  She  had  gone  out. 

"You  are  sure?" 

"Mais,  oui,  monsieur." 

"Has  she  been  gone  long?"  Stephen  persisted,  feeling  per- 
plexed and  irritated,  as  if  something  underhand  were  going 
on. 

"Of  that  I  cannot  tell,"  returned  the  hotel  proprietor,  still 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  125 

in  guttural  French.  "She  left  word  she  would  not  be  at  the 
dinner." 

"Did  she  say  when  she  would  be  back?" 

"No,  monsieur.     She  did  not  say." 

"Perhaps  the  American  Consul's  family  took  pity  on  her, 
and  invited  her  to  dine  with  them,"  suggested  Nevill. 

"Yes,"  Stephen  said,  relieved.  "That's  the  most  likely 
thing,  and  would  explain  her  engagement  this  afternoon." 

"We  might  explore  the  Kasbah  for  an  hour,  and  call  again, 
to  inquire." 

"Let  us,"  returned  Stephen.  "I  should  like  to  know  that 
she's  got  in  all  right." 

Five  minutes  later  they  had  left  the  noisy  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury behind  them,  and  plunged  into  the  shadowy  silence  of 
a  thousand  years  ago. 

The  change  could  not  have  been  more  sudden  and  complete 
if,  from  a  gaily  lighted  modern  street,  full  of  hum  and  bustle, 
they  had  fallen  down  an  oubliette  into  a  dark,  deserted  fairy- 
land. Just  outside  was  the  imported  life  of  Paris,  but  this 
old  town  was  Turkish,  Arab,  Moorish,  Jewish  and  Spanish; 
and  in  Algeria  old  things  do  not  change. 

After  all,  the  alley  was  not  deserted,  though  it  was  sound- 
less as  a  tomb  save  for  a  dull  drumming  somewhere  behind 
thick  walls.  They  were  in  a  narrow  tunnel,  rather  than  a  street, 
between  houses  that  bent  towards  each  other,  their  upper  stories 
supported  by  beams.  There  was  no  electric  light,  scarcely 
any  light  at  all  save  a  strip  of  moonshine,  fine  as  a  line  of  silver 
inlaid  in  ebony,  along  the  cobbled  way  which  ascended  in 
steps,  and  a  faint  glimmer  of  a  lamp  here  and  there  in  the  dis- 
tance, a  lamp  small  and  greenish  as  the  pale  spark  of  a  glow- 
worm. As  they  went  up,  treading  carefully,  forms  white 
as  spirits  came  down  the  street  in  heelless  babouches  that  made 
no  more  noise  than  the  wings  of  a  bat.  These  forms  loomed 
vague  in  the  shadow,  then  took  shape  as  Arab  men,  whose 
eyes  gleamed  under  turbans  or  out  from  hoods. 


126  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Moving  aside  to  let  a  cloaked  figure  go  by,  Stephen  brushed 
against  the  blank  wall  of  a  house,  which  was  cold,  sweating 
dampness  like  an  underground  vault.  No  sun,  except  a  streak 
at  midday,  could  ever  penetrate  this  tunnel-street. 

So  they  went  on  from  one  alley  into  another,  as  if  lost  in 
a  catacomb,  or  the  troubling  mazes  of  a  nightmare.  Always 
the  walls  were  blank,  save  for  a  deep-set,  nail-studded  door, 
or  a  small  window  like  a  square  dark  hole.  Yet  in  reality, 
Nevill  Caird  was  not  lost.  He  knew  his  way  very  well  in 
the  Kasbah,  which  he  never  tired  of  exploring,  though  he  had 
spent  eight  winters  in  Algiers.  By  and  by  he  guided  his 
friend  into  a  street  not  so  narrow  as  the  others  they  had 
climbed,  though  it  was  rather  like  the  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent,  underfoot.  Because  the  moon  could  pour  down  a 
silver  flood  it  was  not  dark,  but  the  lamps  were  so  dull  that 
the  moonlight  seemed  to  put  them  out. 

Here  the  beating  was  as  loud  as  a  frightened  heart.  The 
walls  resounded  with  it,  and  sent  out  an  echo.  More  than  one 
nailed  door  stood  open,  revealing  a  long  straight  passage, 
with  painted  walls  faintly  lighted  from  above,  and  a  curtain 
like  a  shadow,  hiding  the  end.  In  these  passages  hung  the 
smoky  perfume  of  incense;  and  from  over  tile-topped  walls 
came  the  fragrance  of  roses  and  lemon  blossoms,  half  choked 
with  the  melancholy  scent  of  things  old,  musty  and  decayed. 
Beautiful  pillars,  brought  perhaps  from  ruined  Carthage,  were 
set  deeply  in  the  whitewashed  walls,  looking  sad  and  lumpy 
now  that  centuries  of  chalk-coats  had  thickened  their  graceful 
contours.  But  to  compensate  for  loss  of  shape,  they  were  daz- 
zling white,  marvellous  as  columns  of  carved  pearl  in  the  moon- 
light, they  and  their  surrounding  walls  seeming  to  send  out  an 
eerie,  bleached  light  of  their  own  which  struck  at  the  eye.  The 
uneven  path  ran  floods  of  moonlight;  and  from  tiny  windows 
in  the  leaning  snow-palaces  —  windows  like  little  golden 
frames  —  looked  out  the  faces  of  women,  as  if  painted  on  back- 
grounds of  dull  yellow,  emerald -green,  or  rose-coloured  light. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  127 

They  were  unveiled  women,  jewelled  like  idols,  white  and 
pink  as  wax-dolls,  their  brows  drawn  in  black  lines  with  her- 
kous,  their  eyes  glittering  between  bluish  lines  of  kohl,  their 
lips  poppy-red  with  the  tint  of  mesouak,  their  heads  bound  in 
sequined  nets  of  silvered  gauze,  and  crowned  with  tiaras  of 
gold  coins.  The  windows  were  so  small  that  the  women  were 
hidden  below  their  shoulders,  but  their  huge  hoop-earrings 
flashed,  and  their  many  necklaces  sent  out  sparks  as  they 
nodded,  smiling,  at  the  passers;  and  one  who  seemed  young 
and  beautiful  as  a  wicked  fairy,  against  a  purple  light,  threw 
a  spray  of  orange  blossoms  at  Stephen's  feet. 

Then,  out  of  that  street  of  muffled  music,  open  doors,  and 
sequined  idols,  the  two  men  passed  to  another  where,  in  small 
open-air  cafes,  bright  with  flaring  torches  or  electric  light 
squatting  men  smoked,  listening  to  story-tellers;  and  where, 
further  on,  Moorish  baths  belched  out  steam  mingled  with 
smells  of  perfume  and  heated  humanity.  So,  back  again  to 
black  tunnels,  where  the  blind  walls  heard  secrets  they  would 
never  tell.  The  houses  had  no  eyes,  and  the  street  doors  drew 
back  into  shadow. 

"Do  you  wonder  now,"  Nevill  asked,  "that  it's  difficult 
to  find  out  what  goes  on  in  an  Arab's  household  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Stephen.  "I  feel  half  stifled.  It's  wonderful, 
but  somehow  terrible.  Let's  get  out  of  this  'Arabian  Nights' 
dream,  into  light  and  air,  or  something  will  happen  to  us,  some 
such  things  as  befell  the  Seven  Calendars.  We  must  have 
been  here  an  hour.  It's  time  to  inquire  for  Miss  Ray  again. 
She's  sure  to  have  come  in  by  now." 

Back  they  walked  into  the  Twentieth  Century.  Some  of 
the  lights  in  the  hotel  had  been  put  out.  There  was  nobody 
in  the  hall  but  the  porter,  who  had  smoked  his  last  cigarette, 
and  as  no  one  had  given  him  another,  he  was  trying  to  sleep 
in  a  chair  by  the  door. 

Mademoiselle  might  have  come  in.  He  did  not  know. 
Yes,  he  could  ask,  if  there  were  any  one  to  ask,  but  the  woman 


128  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

who  looked  after  the  bedrooms  had  an  evening  out.  There 
was  only  one  femme  de  chambre,  but  what  would  you  ?  The 
high  season  was  over.  As  for  the  key  of  Mademoiselle, 
very  few  of  the  clients  ever  left  their  keys  in  the  bureau  when 
they  promenaded  themselves.  It  was  too  much  trouble.  But 
certainly,  he  could  knock  at  the  door  of  Mademoiselle,  if  the 
gentlemen  insisted,  though  it  was  now  on  the  way  to  eleven 
o'clock,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  wake  the  young  lady  if  she 
were  sleeping. 

"Knock  softly.  If  she's  awake,  she'll  hear  you,"  Stephen 
directed.  "If  she's  asleep,  she  won't." 

The  porter  went  lazily  upstairs,  appearing  again  in  a  few 
minutes  to  announce  that  he  had  obeyed  instructions  and  the 
lady  had  not  answered.  "But,"  he  added,  "one  would  say 
that  an  all  little  light  came  through  the  keyhole." 

"Brute,  to  look!"  mumbled  Stephen.  There  was,  however, 
nothing  more  to  be  done.  It  was  late,  and  they  must  take  it 
for  granted  that  Miss  Ray  had  come  home  and  gone  to  bed. 


XIII 


THAT  night  Stephen  dreamed  troubled  dreams  about 
Victoria.     All  sorts  of  strange  things  were  happen- 
ing behind  a  locked  door,  he  never  quite  knew  what, 
though  he    seemed  forever  trying  to  find    out.     In 
the   morning,  before  he    was    dressed,    Mahommed    brought 
a  letter   to   his  door;   only   one,    on    a   small   tray.     It   was 
the   first  letter    he    had    received    since    leaving    London  — 
he,    who    had    been    used    to    sighing     over    the    pile    that 
heaped   up    with    every   new  post,    and   must   presently    be 
answered. 

He  recognized  the  handwriting  at  a  glance,  though  he  had 
seen  it  only  once,  in  a  note  written  to  Lady  MacGregor.  The 
letter  was  from  Victoria,  and  was  addressed  to  "Mr.  Stephen 
Knight,"  in  American  fashion  —  a  fashion  unattractive  to 
English  eyes.  But  because  it  was  Victoria's  way,  it  seemed  to 
Stephen  simple  and  unaffected,  like  herself.  Besides,  she 
was  not  aware  that  he  had  any  kind  of  handle  to  his 
name. 

"Now  I  shall  know  where  she  was  last  night,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  was  about  to  tear  open  the  envelope, 
when  suddenly  the  thought  that  she  had  touched  the 
paper  made  him  tender  in  his  usage  of  it.  He  found 
a  paper-knife  and  with  careful  precision  cut  the 
envelope  along  the  top.  The  slight  delay  whetted  his 
eagerness  to  read  what  Victoria  had  to  tell.  She 
had  probably  heard  of  the  visit  which  she  had  missed, 
and  had  written  this  letter  before  going  to  bed.  It 
was  a  sweet  thought  of  the  girl's  to  be  so  prompt  in 

129 


130  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

explaining     her     absence,     guessing     that    he     must     have 
suffered  some   anxiety. 

"DEAH  MR.  KNIGHT,"  he  read,  the  blood  slowly  mounting  to 
his  face  as  his  eyes  travelled  from  line  to  line,  "I  don't  know 
what  you  will  think  of  me  when  I  have  told  you  about  the  thing 
I  am  going  to  do.  But  whatever  you  may  think,  don't  think 
me  ungrateful.  Indeed,  indeed  I  am  not  that.  I  hate  to  go 
away  without  seeing  you  again,  yet  I  must;  and  I  can't  even 
tell  you  why,  or  where  I  am  going  —  that  is  the  worst.  But  if 
you  could  know  why,  I'm  almost  sure  you  would  feel  that  I 
am  doing  the  right  thing,  and  the  only  thing  possible.  Before 
all  and  above  all  with  me,  must  be  my  sister's  good.  Every- 
thing else  has  to  be  sacrificed  to  that,  even  things  that  I  value 
very,  very  much. 

"Don't  imagine  though,  from  what  I  say,  that  I'm  making 
a  great  sacrifice,  so  far  as  any  danger  to  myself  is  concerned. 
The  sacrifice  is,  to  risk  being  thought  unkind,  ungrateful,  by 
you,  and  of  losing  your  friendship.  This  is  the  only  danger 
I  am  running,  really;  so  don't  fear  for  me,  and  please  forgive 
me  if  you  can.  Just  at  the  moment  I  must  seem  (as  well  as 
ungracious)  a  little  mysterious,  not  because  I  want  to  be  mys- 
terious, but  because  it  is  forced  on  me  by  circumstances.  I 
hate  it,  and  soon  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  be  as  frank  and  open 
with  you  as  I  was  at  first,  when  I  saw  how  good  you  were  about 
taking  an  interest  in  my  sister  Saidee.  I  think,  as  far  as  I  can 
see  ahead,  I  may  write  to  you  in  a  fortnight.  Then,  I  shall 
have  news  to  tell,  the  best  of  news,  I  hope;  and  I  won't  need  to 
keep  anything  back.  By  that  time  I  may  tell  you  all  that  has 
happened,  since  bidding  you  and  Mr.  Caird  good-bye,  at  the 
door  of  his  beautiful  house,  and  all  that  will  have  happened  by 
the  time  I  can  begin  the  letter.  How  I  wish  it  were  now ! 

"There's  just  one  more  word  I  want  to  say,  that  I  really 
can  say  without  doing  harm  to  anybody  or  to  any  plan.  It's 
this.  I  did  feel  so  guilty  when  you  talked  about  your  motoring 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  131 

with  Mr.  Caird  to  Tlemcen.  It  was  splendid  of  you  both  to  be 
willing  to  go,  and  you  must  have  thought  me  cold  and  half- 
hearted about  it.  But  I  couldn't  tell  you  what  was  in  my 
mind,  even  then.  I  didn't  know  what  was  before  me;  but 
there  was  already  a  thing  which  I  had  to  keep  from  you.  It 
was  only  a  small  thing.  But  now  it  has  grown  to  be  a  very 
big  one. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear  friend  Mr.  Knight.  I  like  to  call  you 
my  friend,  and  I  shall  always  remember  how  good  you  were 
to  me,  if,  for  any  reason,  we  should  never  see  each  other  again. 
It  is  very  likely  we  may  not  meet,  for  I  don't  know  how  long  you 
are  going  to  stay  in  Africa,  or  how  long  I  shall  stay,  so  it  may 
be  that  you  will  go  back  to  England  soon.  I  don't  suppose 
I  shall  go  there.  When  I  can  leave  this  country  it  will  be  to 
sail  for  America  with  my  sister  —  never  without  her.  But  I 
shall  write,  as  I  said,  in  a  fortnight,  if  all  is  well — indeed,  I 
shall  write  whatever  happens.  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  an 
address,  too,  I  hope  very  much,  because  I  should  like  to  heai 
from  you.  And  I  shall  pray  that  you  may  always  be  happy. 

"I  meant  this  to  be  quite  a  short  letter,  but  after  all  it  id 
a  long  one!  Good-bye  again,  and  give  my  best  remembrances 
to  Lady  MacGregor  and  Mr.  Caird,  if  they  are  not  disgusted 
with  me  for  the  way  I  am  behaving.  Gratefully  your  friend, 

"VICTORIA  RAY." 

There  was  no  room  for  any  anger  against  the  girl  in  Stephen's 
heart.  He  was  furious,  but  not  with  her.  And  he  did  not 
know  with  whom  to  be  angry.  There  was  some  one  —  there 
must  be  some  one  —  who  had  persuaded  her  to  take  tjiis  step 
in  the  dark,  and  this  secret  person  deserved  all  his  anger  and 
more.  To  persuade  a  young  girl  to  turn  from  the  only  friends 
she  had  who  could  protect  her,  was  a  crime.  Stephen  could 
imagine  no  good  purpose  to  be  served  by  mystery,  and  he  could 
imagine  many  bad  ones.  The  very  thought  of  the  best  among 
them  made  him  physically  sick.  There  was  a  throat  some- 


132  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

where  in  the  world  which  his  fingers  were  tingling  to  choke; 
and  he  did  not  know  where,  or  whose  it  was.  It  made  his 
head  ache  with  a  rush  of  beating  blood  not  to  know.  And 
realizing  suddenly,  with  a  shock  like  a  blow  in  the  face,  the 
violence  of  his  desire  to  punish  some  person  unknown,  he 
saw  how  intimate  a  place  the  girl  had  in  his  heart.  The 
longing  to  protect  her,  to  save  her  from  harm  or  treachery, 
was  so  intense  as  to  give  pain.  He  felt  as  if  a  lasso  had  been 
thrown  round  his  body,  pressing  his  lungs,  roping  his  arms 
to  his  sides,  holding  him  helpless;  and  for  a  moment  the 
sensation  was  so  powerful  that  he  was  conscious  of  a  severe 
effort,  as  if  to  break  away  from  the  spell  of  a  hypnotist. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  he  stood  still,  though  a  thous- 
and thoughts  ran  through  his  head,  as  in  a  dream  —  as  in  the 
dreams  of  last  night,  which  had  seemed  so  interminable. 

The  thing  to  do  was  to  find  out  at  once  what  had  become 
of  Victoria,  whom  she  had  seen,  who  had  enticed  her  to  leave 
the  hotel.  It  would  not  take  long  to  find  out  these  things.  At 
most  she  could  not  have  been  gone  more  than  thirteen  or  four- 
teen hours. 

At  first,  in  his  impatience,  he  forgot  Nevill.  In  two  or  three 
minutes  he  had  finished  dressing,  and  was  ready  to  start  out 
alone  when  the  thought  of  his  friend  flashed  into  his  mind.  He 
knew  that  Nevill  Caird,  acquainted  as  he  was  with  Algiers, 
would  be  able  to  suggest  things  that  he  might  not  think  of 
unaided.  It  would  be  better  that  they  two  should  set  to  work 
together,  even  though  it  might  mean  a  delay  of  a  few  minutes 
in  the  beginning. 

He  put  Victoria's  letter  in  his  pocket,  meaning  to  show  it 
to  Nevill  as  the  quickest  way  of  explaining  what  had  happened 
and  what  he  wanted  to  do;  but  before  he  had  got  to  his  friend's 
door,  he  knew  that  he  could  not  bear  to  show  the  letter.  There 
was  nothing  in  it  which  Nevill  might  not  see,  nothing  which 
Victoria  might  not  have  wished  him  to  see.  Nevertheless  it 
was  now  his  letter,  and  he  could  not'  have  it  read  by  any  one. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  133 

He  knocked  at  the  door,  but  Nevill  did  not  answer.  Then 
Stephen  guessed  that  his  friend  must  be  in  the  garden.  One 
of  the  under-gardeners,  working  near  the  house,  had  seen  the 
master,  and  told  the  guest  where  to  go.  Monsieur  Caird  was 
giving  medicine  to  the  white  peacock,  who  was  not  well,  and 
in  the  stable-yard  Nevill  was  found,  in  the  act  of  pouring  some- 
thing down  the  peacock's  throat  with  a  spoon. 

When  he  heard  what  Stephen  had  to  say,  he  looked  very 
grave. 

"I  wish  Miss  Ray  hadn't  stopped  at  that  hotel,"  he  said. 

"Why?"  Stephen  asked  sharply.  "You  don't  think  the 
people  there " 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  But  I  have  a  sort  of  idea 
the  brutes  knew  something  last  night  and  wouldn't  tell." 

"They'll  have  to  tell!"  exclaimed  Stephen. 

Nevill  did  not  answer. 

"I  shall  go  down  at  once,"  Stephen  went  on. 

"Of  course  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  his  friend. 

They  had  forgotten  about  breakfast.  Stopping  only  to  get 
their  hats,  they  started  for  the  town. 


xrv 


DON'T  begin  by  accusing  the  landlord  of  anything," 
Nevill  advised,  at  the  hotel  door.  "  He's  got  too 
much  Arab  blooi  in  him  to  stand  that.  You'd 
only  make  him  tell  you  lies.  We  must  seem  to 
know  things,  and  ask  questions  as  if  we  expected  him  to  con- 
firm our  knowledge.  That  may  confuse  him  if  he  wants  to 
lie.  He  won't  be  sure  what  ground  to  ta'ce." 

The  Arab  porter  was  not  in  his  place,  but  the  proprietor 
sat  in  his  den  behind  the  window.  He  was  drinking  a  cup  of 
thick,  syrupy  coffee,  and  soaking  a  rusk  in  it.  Stephen  thought 
this  a  disgusting  sight,  and  could  hardly  bear  to  let  his  eyes 
rest  on  the  thick  rolls  of  fat  that  bulged  over  the  man's  low 
collar,  all  the  way  round  his  neck  like  a  yellow  ruff.  Not 
trusting  himself  to  speak  just  then,  Stephen  let  Caird  begin 
the  conversation. 

The  landlord  bowed  over  his  coffee  and  some  letters  he 
was  reading,  but  did  not  trouble  to  do  more  than  half  rise  from 
his  chair  and  sink  back  again,  solidly.  These  fine  gentlemen 
would  never  be  clients  of  his,  would  never  be  instrumental  in 
sending  any  one  to  him.  Why  should  he  put  himself  out  ? 

"We've  had  a  letter  from  Miss  Ray  this  morning,"  Nevill 
announced,  after  a  perfunctory  exchange  of  "good  days"  in 
French. 

The  two  young  men  both  looked  steadily  at  the  proprietor 
of  the  hotel,  as  Nevill  said  these  words.  The  fat  man  did  not 
show  any  sign  of  embarrassment,  however,  unless  his  expectant 
gaze  became  somewhat  fixed,  in  an  effort  to  prevent  a  blink. 
If  this  were  so,  the  change  was  practically  imperceptible. 

134 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  135 

"She  had  left  here  before  six  o'clock  last  evening, 
hadn't  she  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  Monsieur.  It  is  as  I  answered  yester- 
day. I  do  not  know  the  time  when  she  went  out." 

"You  must  know  what  she  said  when  she  went." 

"On  the  contrary,  Monsieur.  The  young  lady  did  not 
speak  with  me  herself.  She  sent  a  message." 

"  And  the  message  was  that  she  was  leaving  your  hotel  ?  " 

"  First  of  all,  that  she  had  the  intention  of  dining  out.  With 
a  lady." 

Stephen  and  Nevill  looked  at  each  other.  With  a  lady? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Mademoiselle  Soubise,  interested  in 
the  story,  had  called  and  taken  the  girl  away  ? 

"What  then?"  went  on  Caird.  "She  let  you  know  event- 
ually that  she'd  made  up  her  mind  to  go  altogether?" 

"  The  message  was  that  she  might  come  back  in  some  days. 
But  yes,  Monsieur,  she  let  me  know  that  for  the  present  she 
was  leaving." 

"Yet  you  didn't  tell  us  this  when  we  called!"  exclaimed 
Stephen.  "  You  let  us  think  she  would  be  back  later  in  the 
evening." 

"Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  if  you  remember,  you  asked  when 
Mademoiselle  would  be  back.  I  replied  that  I  did  not  know. 
It  was  perfectly  true.  And  desolated  as  I  was  to  inconvenience 
you,  I  could  not  be  as  frank  as  my  heart  prompted.  My  re- 
grettable reserve  was  the  result  of  Mademoiselle's  expressed 
wish.  She  did  not  desire  to  have  it  known  that  she  was  leav- 
ing the  hotel,  until  she  herself  chose  to  inform  her  friends.  As 
it  seems  you  have  had  a  letter,  Monsieur,  I  can  now  speak 
freely.  Yesterday  evening  I  could  not." 

He  looked  like  the  last  man  whose  heart  Would  naturally 
prompt  him  to  frankness,  but  it  seemed  impossible  to  prove,  at 
the  moment,  that  he  was  lying.  It  was  on  the  cards  that  Miss 
Ray  might  have  requested  silence  as  to  her  movements. 

Stephen  bit  his  lip  to  keep  back  an  angry  reproach,   never- 


136  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

theless,  and  Caird  reflected  a  moment  before  answering.  Then 
he  said  slowly;  "Look  here:  we  are  both  friends  of  Miss  Ray, 
the  only  ones  she  has  in  Algiers,  except  of  course  my  aunt,  Lady 
MacGregor,  with  whom  she  lunched  yesterday.  We  are 
afraid  she  has  been  imprudently  advised  by  some  one,  as  she 
is  young  and  inexperienced  in  travelling.  Now,  if  you  will 
find  out  from  your  servants,  and  also  let  us  know  from  your 
own  observation,  exactly  what  she  did  yesterday,  after  return- 
ing from  her  visit  to  my  aunt  —  what  callers  she  had,  if  any; 
to  whose  house  she  went,  and  so  on  —  we  will  make  it  worth 
your  while.  Lady  MacGregor"  (he  made  great  play  with  his 
relative's  name,  as  if  he  wished  the  landlord  to  understand 
that  two  young  men  were  not  the  girl's  only  friends  in  Algiers) 
"is  very  anxious  to  see  Miss  Ray.  To  spare  her  anxiety,  we 
offer  a  reward  of  a  thousand  francs  for  reliable  information. 
But  we  must  hear  to-day,  or  to-morrow  at  latest." 

As  he  evolved  this  proposal,  Nevill  and  Stephen  kept  their 
eyes  upon  the  man's  fat  face.  He  looked  politely  interested, 
but  not  excited,  though  the  offer  of  a  thousand  francs  was 
large  enough  to  rouse  his  cupidity,  it  would  seem,  if  he  saw  his 
way  to  earning  it. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  discouraged  air  when 
Nevill  finished. 

"I  can  tell  you  now,  Monsieur,  all  that  I  know  of  Made- 
moiselle's movements  —  all  that  anybody  in  the  hotel  knows,  I 
think.  No  one  came  to  see  her,  except  yourselves.  She  was 
out  all  the  morning  of  yesterday,  and  did  not  return  here  till 
sometime  after  the  dSjeuner.  After  that,  she  remained  in  her 
room  until  towards  evening.  It  was  the  head-waiter  who 
brought  me  the  message  of  which  I  have  told  you,  and  re- 
quested the  bill.  At  what  hour  the  young  lady  actually  went 
out,  I  do  not  know.  The  porter  can  probably  tell  you." 

"But  her  luggage,"  Stephen  cut  in  quickly.  "Where  did 
it  go  ?  You  can  at  least  tell  that  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle's  luggage  is  still  in  the  hotel.     She  asked 


"THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  137 

permission  to  store  it,  all  but  a  dressing-bag  of  some  sort, 
which,  I  believe  she  carried  with  her." 

"In  a  cab?" 

"That  I  do  not  know.  It  will  be  another  question  for  the 
porter.  But  were  I  in  the  place  of  Monsieur  and  his  friend, 
I  should  have  no  uneasiness  about  the  young  lady.  She  is 
certain  to  have  found  trustworthy  acquaintances,  for  she  ap- 
peared to  be  very  sensible." 

"  We  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  let  us  have  a  short  talk  with 
several  of  your  servants,"  said  Nevill  — "  the  femme  de 
chambre  who  took  care  of  Miss  Ray's  room,  and  the  waiter 
who  served  her,  as  well  as  the  porter." 

"Certainly,  Monsieur.  They  shall  be  brought  here,"  the 
landlord  assented.  "I  will  help  you  by  questioning  them 
myself." 

"I  think  we'll  do  that  without  your  help,  thank  you,"  re- 
plied Stephen  drily. 

The  fat  man  looked  slightly  less  agreeable,  but  touched 
a  bell  in  the  wall  by  his  desk.  A  boy  answered  and  was  sent 
to  command  Ange"le  and  Ahmed  to  report  at  once.  Also  he  was 
to  summon  the  porter,  whether  that  man  had  finished  his  break- 
fast or  not.  These  orders  given,  Monsieur  Constant  looked  at 
the  two  Englishmen  as  if  to  say,  "You  see!  I  put  my  whole 
staff  at  your  disposition.  Does  not  this  prove  my  good  faith  ? 
What  would  you  have  more  ?  " 

Ange"le  was  Algerian  French,  evidently  of  mixed  parentage, 
like  all  those  in  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah  who  were  not  Arabs. 
She  was  middle-aged,  with  a  weary,  hatchet  face,  and  eyes 
from  which  looked  a  crushed  spirit.  If  Stephen  and  Nevill 
could  have  seen  Madame  Constant,  they  would  hardly  have 
wondered  at  that  expression. 

Ahmed  had  negro  blood  in  his  veins,  and  tried  to  smooth 
out  the  frizziness  of  the  thick  black  hair  under  his  fez,  with 
much  pomatum,  which  smelled  of  cheap  bergamot. 

These  two,  with  the  porter  who  soon  appeared,  brushing 


138  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

breadcrumbs  from  his  jacket,  stood  in  front  of  the  bureau 
window,  waiting  to  learn  the  purpose  for  which  they  had  been 
torn  from  their  various  occupations.  "  It  is  these  gentlemen  who 
have  something  to  ask  you.  They  do  not  wish  me  to  interfere," 
announced  the  master  to  his  servants,  with  a  gesture.  He  then 
turned  ostentatiously  to  the  sipping  of  his  neglected  coffee. 

Nevill  undertook  the  cross-questionings,  with  occasional 
help  from  Stephen,  but  they  learned  no  detail  of  importance. 
Angele  said  that  she  had  been  out  when  the  demoiselle  Ameri- 
caine  had  left  the  hotel;  but  that  the  luggage  of  Mademoiselle 
was  still  in  her  room.  Ahmed  had  taken  a  message  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Patron,  about  the  bill,  and  had  brought  back  Made- 
moiselle's change,  when  the  note  was  paid.  The  porter  had 
carried  down  a  large  dressing-bag,  at  what  time  he  could  not 
be  sure,  but  it  was  long  before  dark.  He  had  asked  if  Made- 
moiselle wished  him  to  call  a  voiture,  but  she  had  said  no. 
She  was  going  out  on  foot,  and  would  presently  return  in  a 
carriage.  This  she  did.  The  porter  believed  it  was  an  or- 
dinary cab  in  which  Mademoiselle  had  driven  back,  but  he 
had  not  thought  much  about  it,  being  in  a  hurry  as  he  took 
the  bag.  He  was  at  least  certain  that  Mademoiselle  had  been 
alone.  She  had  received  no  callers  while  she  was  in  the  hotel, 
and  had  not  been  seen  speaking  to  any  one:  but  she  had  gone 
out  a  great  deal.  Why  had  he  not  mentioned  in  the  evening 
that  the  young  lady  had  driven  away  with  luggage  ?  For  the 
sufficient  reason  that  Mademoiselle  had  particularly  requested 
him  to  say  nothing  of  her  movements,  should  any  one  come 
to  inquire.  It  was  for  the  same  reason  that  he  had  been 
obliged  to  deceive  Monsieur  in  the  matter  of  knocking  at  her 
door.  And  as  the  porter  made  this  answer,  he  looked  far  more 
impudent  than  he  had  looked  last  night,  though  he  was  smiling 
blandly. 

How  much  of  this  was  lies  and  how  much  truth?  Stephen 
wondered,  when,  having  given  up  hope  of  learning  more  from 
landlord  or  servants,  they  left  the  hotel. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  139 

Nevill  had  to  confess  that  he  was  puzzled.  "Their  stories 
hold  together  well  enough,"  he  said,  x'but  if  they  have  any- 
thing to  hide  (mind,  I  don't  say  they  have)  they're  the  sort  to 
get  up  their  tale  beforehand,  so  as  to  make  it  water-tight.  We 
called  last  night,  and  that  man  Constant  must  have  known 
we'd  come  again,  whether  we  heard  from  Miss  Ray  or  whether 
we  didn't  —  still  more,  if  we  didn't.  Easy  as  falling  off  a 
log  to  put  the  servants  up  to  what  he  wanted  them  to  say,  and 
prepare  them  for  questions,  without  giving  them  tips  under  our 
noses." 

"If  they  know  anything  that  fat  old  swine  doesn't  want  them 
to  give  away,  we  can  bribe  it  out  of  them,"  said  Stephen,  savage- 
ly. "Surely  these  Arabs  and  half-breeds  love  money." 

"Yes,  but  there's  something  else  they  hold  higher,  most 
of  them,  I  will  say  in  their  favour — loyalty  to  their  own  people. 
If  this  affair  has  to  do  with  Arabs,  like  as  not  we  might  offer 
all  we've  got  without  inducing  them  to  speak  —  except  to  tell 
plausible  lies  and  send  us  farther  along  the  wrong  track.  It's  a 
point  of  pride  with  these  brown  faces.  Their  own  above  the 
Roumis,  and  I'm  hanged  if  I  can  help  respecting  them  for 
that,  lies  and  all." 

"But  why  should  they  lie?"  broke  out  Stephen.  "What 
can  it  be  to  them?" 

"Nothing,  in  all  probability,"  Nevill  tried  to  soothe  him. 
"The  chances  are,  they've  told  us  everything  they  know,  in  good 
faith,  and  that  they're  just  as  much  in  the  dark  about  Miss 
Ray's  movements  as  we  are  —  without  the  clue  we  have,  know- 
ing as  we  do  why  she  came  to  Algiers.  It's  mysterious  enough 
anyhow,  what's  become  of  her;  but  it's  more  likely  than  not 
that  she  kept  her  own  secret.  You  say  she  admitted  in  her 
letter  having  heard  something  which  she  didn't  mention  to  us 
when  she  was  at  my  house;  so  she  must  have  got  a  clue, 
or  what  she  thought  was  a  clue,  between  the  time  when  we  took 
her  from  the  boat  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah,  and  the  time 
when  she  came  to  us  for  lunch." 


140  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"It's  simply  hideous!"  Stephen  exclaimed.  "The  only  way 
I  can  see  now  is  to  call  in  the  police.  They  must  find  out  where 
that  cab  came  from  and  where  it  took  Miss  Ray.  That's 
the  important  thing." 

"Yes,  to  get  hold  of  the  cabman  is  the  principal  thing," 
said  Nevill,  without  any  ring  of  confidence  in  his  voice.  "But 
till  we  learn  the  contrary,  we  may  as  well  presume  she's  safe. 
As  for  the  police,  for  her  sake  they  must  be  a  last  resort." 

"Let's  go  at  once  and  interview  somebody.  But  there's 
one  hope.  She  may  have  gone  to  Tlemcen  to  see  that  Kabyle 
maid  of  Mademoiselle  Soubise,  for  herself.  Perhaps  that's 
why  she  didn't  encourage  us  to  motor  there.  She's  jolly  in- 
dependent." 

Nevill's  face  brightened.  "When  we've  done  what  we  can 
in  Algiers,  we  might  run  there  ourselves  in  the  car,  just  as  I 
proposed  before,"  he  said  eagerly.  "If  nothing  came  of 
it,  we  wouldn't  be  wasting  time,  you  know.  She  warned  you 
not  to  expect  news  for  a  fortnight,  so  there's  no  use  hanging 
about  here  in  hopes  of  a  letter  or  telegram.  We  can  go  to 
Tlemcen  and  get  back  inside  five  days.  What  do  you  say?" 

What  Stephen  might  have  said  was,  that  they  could  save 
the  journey  by  telegraphing  to  Mademoiselle  Soubise  to  ask 
whether  Miss  Ray  had  arrived  in  Tlemcen.  But  the  brightness 
in  Nevill's  eyes  and  the  hopefulness  in  his  voice  kept  back  the 
prosaic  suggestion. 

"I  say,  by  all  means  let's  go  to  Tlemcen,"  he  answered. 
"To-morrow,  after  we've  found  out  what  we  can  here  about 
the  cab,  inquired  at  the  railway  stations  and  so  on.  Besides, 
we  can  at  least  apply  to  the  police  for  information  about  Ben 
Halim.  If  we  learn  he's  alive,  and  where  he  is  living,  it  may 
be  almost  the  same  as  knowing  where  Miss  Ray  has  gone." 


XV 


NOTHING  could  be  heard  of  Victoria  at  any  place  of 
departure  for  ships,  nor  at  the  railway  stations. 
Stephen  agreed  with  Nevill  that  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  lay  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  lest 
in  some  way  the  girl's  mysterious  "plan"  should  be  defeated. 
But  he  could  not  put  out  of  his  head  an  insistent  idea  that  the 
Arab  on  board  the  Charles  Quex  might  stand  for  something 
in  this  underhand  business.  Stephen  could  not  rest  until  he 
had  found  out  the  name  of  this  man,  and  what  had  become  of 
him  after  arriving  at  Algiers.  As  for  the  name,  having  ap- 
peared on  the  passenger  list,  it  was  easily  obtained  without 
expert  help.  The  Arab  was  a  certain  Sidi  Maieddine  ben  el 
Hadj  Messaoud;  and  when  Jeanne  Soubise  was  applied  to  for 
information  concerning  him,  she  was  able  to  learn  from  her 
Arab  friends  that  he  was  a  young  man  of  good  family,  the  son 
of  an  Agha  or  desert  chief,  whose  douar  lay  far  south,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  El-Aghouat.  He  was  respected  by  the 
French  authorities  and  esteemed  by  the  Governor  of  Algiers. 
Known  to  be  ambitious,  he  was  anxious  to  stand  well  with  the 
ruling  power,  and  among  the  dissipated,  sensuous  young  Arabs 
of  his  class  and  generation,  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  example 
and  a  shining  light.  The  only  fault  found  in  him  by  his  own 
people  was  that  he  inclined  to  be  too  modern,  too  French  in 
his  political  opinions;  and  his  French  friends  found  no  fault 
with  him  at  all. 

It  seemed  impossible  that  a  person  so  highly  placed  would 
dare  risk  his  future  by  kidnapping  a  European  girl,  and  Jeanne 
Soubise  advised  Stephen  to  turn  his  suspicions  in  another 

141 


142  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

direction.  Still  he  would  not  be  satisfied,  until  he  had  found 
and  engaged  a  private  detective,  said  to  be  clever,  who  had 
lately  seceded  from  a  Paris  agency  and  set  up  for  himself  in 
Algiers.  Through  him,  Stephen  hoped  to  learn  how  Sidi  Mafed- 
dine  ben  el  Hadj  Messaoud  had  occupied  himself  after  landing 
from  the  Charles  Quex;  but  all  he  did  learn  was  that  the  Arab, 
accompanied  by  his  servant  and  no  one  else,  had,  after  call- 
ing on  the  Governor,  left  Algiers  immediately  for  El-Aghouat. 
At  least,  he  had  taken  train  for  Bogharie,  and  was  known 
to  have  affairs  of  importance  to  settle  between  his  father  the 
Agha,  and  the  French  authorities.  Secret  inquiries  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Kasbah  elicited  answers,  unvaryingly  the  same. 
Sidi  Maieddine  ben  el  Hadj  Messaoud  was  not  a  patron  of  the 
house,  and  had  never  been  seen  there.  No  one  answering  at 
all  to  his  description  had  stopped  in,  or  even  called  at,  the 
hotel. 

Of  course,  the  value  of  such  assurances  was  negatived  by 
the  fact  that  Arabs  hold  together  against  foreigners,  and  that 
if  Si  Maieddine  wished  to  be  incognito  among  his  own  people, 
his  wish  would  probably  be  respected,  in  spite  of  bribery.  Be- 
sides, he  was  rich  enough  to  offer  bribes  on  his  own  part. 
Circumstantial  evidence,  however,  being  against  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  man  had  followed  Victoria  after  landing,  Stephen 
abandoned  it  for  the  time,  and  urged  the  detective,  Adolphe 
Roslin,  to  trace  the  cabman  who  had  driven  Miss  Ray  away 
from  her  hotel.  Roslin  was  told  nothing  about  Victoria's 
private  interests,  but  she  was  accurately  described  to  him, 
and  he  was  instructed  to  begin  his  search  by  finding  the  squint- 
eyed  cab-driver  who  had  brought  the  girl  to  lunch  at  Djenan  el 
Djouad. 

Only  in  the  affair  of  Cassim  ben  Halim  did  Stephen  and 
Nevill  decide  to  act  openly,  Nevill  using  such  influence  as  he 
had  at  the  Governor's  palace.  They  both  hoped  to  learn  some- 
thing which  in  compassion  or  prudence  had  been  kept  from 
the  girl;  but  they  failed,  as  Victoria  had  failed.  If  a  scandal 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  143 

had  driven  the  Arab  captain  of  Spahis  from  the  army  and 
from  Algiers,  the  authorities  were  not  ready  to  unearth  it  now 
in  order  to  satisfy  the  curiosity,  legitimate  or  illegitimate,  of 
two  Englishmen. 

Captaift  Cassim  ben  Halim  el  Cheik  el  Arab,  had  resigned 
from  the  army  on  account  of  ill-health,  rather  more  than  nine 
years  ago,  and  having  sold  his  house  in  Algiers  had  soon  after 
left  Algeria  to  travel  abroad.  He  had  never  returned,  and 
there  was  evidence  that  he  had  been  burned  to  death  in  a  great 
fire  at  Constantinople  a  year  or  two  later.  The  few  living 
relatives  he  had  in  Algeria  believed  him  to  be  dead ;  and  a  house 
which  Ben  Halim  had  owned  not  far  from  Bou  Saada,  had 
passed  into  the  hands  of  his  uncle,  Cai'd  of  a  desert-village  in 
the  district.  As  to  Ben  Halim's  marriage  with  an  American 
girl,  nobody  knew  anything.  The  present  Governor  and  his 
staff  had  come  to  Algiers  after  his  supposed  death;  and  if 
Nevill  suspected  a  deliberate  reticence  behind  certain  answers 
to  his  questions,  perhaps  he  was  mistaken.  Cassim  ben  Halim 
and  his  affairs  could  now  be  of  little  importance  to  French 
officials. 

It  did  not  take  Roslin  an  hour  to  produce  the  squinting 
cabman;  but  the  old  Arab  was  able  to  prove  that  he  had  been 
otherwise  engaged  than  in  driving  Miss  Ray  on  the  evening 
when  she  left  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah.  His  son  had  been  ill, 
and  the  father  had  given  up  work  in  order  to  play  nurse. 
A  doctor  corroborated  this  story,  and  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  in  that  direction. 

Then  it  was  that  Nevill  almost  timidly  renewed  his  sugges- 
tion of  a  visit  to  Tlemcen.  They  could  find  out  by  telegraph- 
ing Josette,  he  admitted,  whether  or  no  Victoria  Ray  had  ar- 
rived, but  if  she  were  not  already  in  Tlemcen,  she  might  come 
later,  to  see  Mouni.  And  even  if  not,  they  might  find  out  how 
to  reach  Saidee,  by  catechizing  the  Kabyle  girl.  Once  they 
knew  the  way  to  Victoria's  sister,  it  was  next  best  to  knowing  the 
way  to  find  Victoria  herself.  This  last  argument  was  not  to  be 


144  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

despised.  It  impressed  Stephen,  and  he  consented  at  once  to 
"try  their  luck"  at  Tlemcen. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  second  day  after  the  coming  of 
Victoria's  letter,  the  two  men  started  in  Nevill's  yellow  car,  the 
merry-eyed  chauffeur  charmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  journey 
worth  doing.  He  was  tired,  he  remarked  to  Stephen,  "  de  tous 
ces  petits  voyages  d'une  demi-heure,  comme  les  tristes  pro- 
menades des  enfants,  sans  une  seule  aventure." 

They  had  bidden  good-bye  to  Lady  MacGregor,  and  most 
of  the  family  animals,  overnight,  and  it  was  hardly  eight  o'clock 
when  they  left  Djenan  el  Djouad,  for  the  day's  journey  would 
be  long.  A  magical  light,  like  the  light  in  a  dream,  gilded 
the  hills  of  the  Sahel;  and  beyond  lay  the  vast  plain  of  the 
Metidja,  a  golden  bowl,  heaped  to  its  swelling  rim  of  mountains 
with  the  fairest  fruits  of  Algeria. 

The  car  rushed  through  a  world  of  blossoms,  fragrant  open 
country  full  of  flowers,  and  past  towns  that  did  their  small 
utmost  to  bring  France  into  the  land  which  France  had  con- 
quered. Boufarik,  with  its  tall  monument  to  a  brave  French 
soldier  who  fought  against  tremendous  odds:  Blidah,  a  walled 
and  fortified  mixture  of  garrison  and  orange-grove,  with  a 
market-place  like  a  scene  in  the  "Arabian  Nights":  Orleansville, 
modern  and  ostentatiously  French,  built  upon  ruins  of  vast 
antiquity,  and  hotter  than  all  other  towns  in  the  dry  cup  of  the 
Chelif  Valley:  Relizane,  Perre'gaux,  and  finally  Oran  (famed 
still  for  its  old  Spanish  forts),  which  they  reached  by  moonlight. 

Always  there  were  fields  embroidered  round  the  edges  with 
wild  flowers  of  blue  and  gold,  and  rose.  Always  there  were 
white,  dusty  roads,  along  which  other  motors  sometimes  raced, 
but  oftener  there  were  farm-carts,  wagons  pulled  by  strings  of 
mules,  and  horses  with  horned  harness  like  the  harness  in  Pro- 
vence or  on  the  Spanish  border.  There  were  huge,  two-storied 
diligences,  too,  drawn  by  six  or  eight  black  mules,  crammed 
under  their  canvas  roofs  with  white-  or  brown-robed  Arabs, 
and  going  very  fast. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  145 

From  Oran  they  might  have  gone  on  the  same  night,  reach- 
ing the  end  of  their  journey  after  a  few  hours'  spin,  but  Nevill 
explained  that  haste  would  be  vain.  They  could  not  see  Made- 
moiselle Soubise  until  past  nine,  so  better  sleep  at  Oran,  start 
at  dawn,  and  see  something  of  the  road,  —  a  road  more  pictur- 
esque than  any  they  had  travelled. 

It  was  not  for  Stephen  to  offer  objections,  though  he  was 
in  a  mood  which  made  him  long  to  push  on  without  stopping, 
even  though  there  were  no  motive  for  haste.  He  was  ashamed 
of  the  mood,  however,  and  hardly  understood  what  it  meant, 
since  he  had  come  to  Algeria  in  search  of  peace.  When  first 
he  landed,  and  until  the  day  of  Victoria's  letter,  he  had  been 
enormously  interested  in  the  panorama  of  the  East  which  passed 
before  his  eyes.  He  had  eagerly  noticed  each  detail  of  colour 
and  strangeness,  but  now,  though  the  London  lethargy  was 
gone,  in  its  place  had  been  born  a  disturbing  restlessness  which 
would  not  let  him  look  impersonally  at  life  as  at  a  picture. 

Questioning  himself  as  he  lay  awake  in  the  Oran  hotel,  with 
windows  open  to  the  moonlight,  Stephen  was  forced  to  admit 
that  the  picture  was  blurred  because  Victoria  had  gone  out  of 
it.  Her  figure  had  been  in  the  foreground  when  first  he  had 
seen  the  moving  panorama,  and  all  the  rest  had  been  only  a 
magical  frame  for  her.  The  charm  of  her  radiant  youth,  and 
the  romance  of  the  errand  which  had  brought  her  knocking, 
when  he  knocked,  at  the  door  of  the  East,  had  turned  the 
glamour  into  glory.  Now  she  had  vanished ;  and  as  her  letter 
said,  it  might  be  that  she  would  never  come  back.  The  centre 
of  interest  was  transferred  to  the  unknown  place  where  she 
had  gone,  and  Stephen  began  to  see  that  his  impatience  to  be 
moving  was  born  of  the  wish  not  only  to  know  that  she  was 
safe,  but  to  see  her  again. 

He  was  angry  with  himself  at  this  discovery,  and  almost  he 
was  angry  with  Victoria.  If  he  had  not  her  affairs  to  worry 
over,  Africa  would  be  giving  him  the  rest  cure  he  had  expected. 
He  would  be  calmly  enjoying  this  run  through  beautiful  coun- 


146  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  , 

try,  instead  of  chafing  to  rush  on  to  the  end.  Since,  in  all  prob- 
ability, he  could  do  the  girl  no  good,  and  certainly  she  could 
do  him  none,  he  half  wished  that  one  or  the  other  had  crossed 
from  Marseilles  to  Algiers  on  a  different  ship.  What  he  needed 
was  peace,  not  any  new  and  feverish  personal  interest  in  life. 
Yes,  decidedly  he  wished  that  he  had  never  known  Victoria  Ray. 

But  the  wish  did  not  live  long.  Suddenly  her  face,  her  eyes, 
came  before  him  in  the  night.  He  heard  her  say  that  she 
would  give  him  "half  her  star,"  and  his  heart  grew  sick  with 
longing. 

"I  hope  to  Heaven  I'm  not  going  to  love  that  girl,"  he  said 
aloud  to  the  darkness.  If  no  other  woman  came  into  his  life, 
he  might  be  able  to  get  through  it  well  enough  with  Margot. 
He  could  hunt  and  shoot,  and  do  other  things  that  consoled 
men  for  lack  of  something  better.  But  if  —  he  knew  he  must 
not  let  there  be  an  "if."  He  must  go  on  thinking  of  Victoria 
Ray  as  a  child,  a  charming  little  friend  whom  he  wished  to  help. 
Any  other  thought  of  her  would  mean  ruin. 

Before  dawn  they  were  called,  and  started  as  the  sun  showed 
over  the  horizon. 

So  they  ran  into  the  western  country,  near  to  the  Morocco 
border.  Dull  at  first,  save  for  its  flooding  flowers,  soon  the 
way  wound  among  dark  mountains,  from  whose  helmeted  heads 
trailed  the  long  plumes  of  white  cascades,  and  whose  feet  — 
like  the  stone  feet  of  Egyptian  kings  in  ruined  temples  —  were 
bathed  by  lakes  that  glimmered  in  the  depths  of  gorges. 

It  was  a  land  of  legends  and  dreams  round  about  Tlemcen, 
the  "Key  of  the  West,"  city  of  beautiful  mosques.  The  moun- 
tains were  honeycombed  with  onyx  mines;  and  rising  out  of 
wide  plains  were  crumbling  brown  fortresses,  haunted  by  the 
ghosts  of  long-dead  Arabs  who  had  buried  hoards  of  money 
in  secret  hiding-places,  and  died  before  they  could  unearth 
their  treasure.  Tombs  of  kings  and  princes,  and  koubbahs 
of  renowned  marabouts,  Arab  saints,  gleamed  white,  or  yellow 
as  old  gold,  under  the  faded  silver  of  ancient  olive  trees,  in 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  147 

fields  that  ran  red  with  blood  of  poppies.  Minarefes  jewelled 
like  peacocks'  tails  soared  above  the  tops  of  blossoming  chest- 
nuts. On  low  trees  or  bushes,  guarding  the  graves  of  saints, 
fluttered  many-coloured  rags,  left  there  by  faithful  men  and 
women  who  had  prayed  at  the  shrine  for  health  or  fortune; 
and  for  every  foot  of  ground  there  was  some  wild  tale  of  war 
or  love,  an  echo  from  days  so  long  ago  that  history  had  mingled 
inextricably  with  lore  of  fairies. 

Nevill  was  excited  and  talkative  as  they  drove  into  the  old 
town,  once  the  light  of  western  Algeria.  They  passed  in 
by  the  gateway  of  Oran,  and  through  streets  that  tried  to  be 
French,  but  contrived  somehow  to  be  Arab.  Nevill  told  stories 
of  the  days  when  Tlemcen  had  queened  it  over  the  west,  and 
coined  her  own  money;  of  the  marabouts  after  whom  the  most 
famous  mosques  were  named:  Sidi-el-Haloui,  the  confectioner- 
saint  from  Seville,  who  preached  to  the  children  and  made  them 
sweetmeats;  of  the  lawyer-saint,  Sidi  Aboul  Hassan  from 
Arabia,  and  others.  But  he  did  not  speak  of  Josette  Soubise, 
until  suddenly  he  touched  Stephen's  arm  as  they  passed  the 
high  wall  of  a  garden. 

"There,  that's  where  she  teaches,"  he  said;  and  it  was  not 
necessary  to  add  a  name. 

Stephen  glanced  at  him  quickly.  Nevill  looked  very  young. 
His  eyes  no  longer  seemed  to  gaze  at  far-away  things  which  no 
one  else  could  see.  All  his  interests  were  centred  near  at  hand. 

"Don't  you  mean  to  stop?"  Stephen  asked,  surprised  that 
the  car  went  on. 

"No;  school's  begun.  We'll  have  to  wait  till  the  noon 
interval,  and  even  then  we  shan't  be  allowed  indoors,  for  a 
good  many  of  the  girls  are  over  twelve,  the  age  for  veiling  — 
hadjabah,  they  call  it  —  when  they're  shut  up,  and  no  man, 
except  near  relations,  can  see  their  faces.  Several  of  the  girls 
are  already  engaged.  I  believe  there's  one,  not  fourteen, 
who's  been  divorced  twice,  though  she's  still  interested  in  dolls. 
Weird,  isn't  it  ?  Josette  will  talk  with  us  in  the  garden.  But 


148  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

we'll  have  time  now  to  take  rooms  at  the  hotel  and  wash  off  the 
dust.  To  eat  something  too,  if  you're  hungry." 

But  Stephen  was  no  hungrier  than  Nevill,  whose  excitement, 
perhaps,  was  contagious. 

The  hotel  was  in  a  wide  place,  so  thickly  planted  with  acacias 
and  chestnut  trees  as  to  resemble  a  shabby  park.  An  Arab 
servant  showed  them  to  adjoining  rooms,  plain  but  clean,  and 
a  half-breed  girl  brought  tins  of  hot  water  and  vases  of  syringas. 
As  for  roses,  she  said  in  hybrid  French,  no  one  troubled  about 
them — there  were  too  many  in  Tlemcen.  Ah!  but  it  was  a 
land  of  plenty!  The  gentlemen  would  be  happy,  and  wish  to 
stay  a  long  time.  There  was  meat  and  good  wine  for  almost 
nothing,  and  beggars  need  not  ask  twice  for  bread  —  fine, 
white  bread,  baked  as  the  Moors  baked,  across  the  border. 

As  they  bathed  and  dressed  more  carefully  than  they  had 
dressed  for  the  early-morning  start,  strange  sounds  came  up 
from  the  square  below,  which  was  full  of  people,  laughing, 
quarrelling,  playing  games,  striking  bargains,  singing  songs. 
Arab  bootblacks  clamoured  for  custom  at  the  hotel-door,  push- 
ing one  another  aside,  fiercely.  Little  boys  in  embroidered 
green  or  crimson  jackets  sat  on  the  hard,  yellow  earth,  playing 
an  intricate  game  like  "jack  stones,"  and  disputed  so  violently 
that  men  and  even  women  stopped  to  remonstrate,  and  sepa- 
rate them;  now  a  grave,  prosperous  Jew  dressed  in  red  (Jewish 
mourning  in  the  province  of  Oran) ;  then  an  old  Kabyle  woman 
of  the  plains,  in  a  short  skirt  of  fiery  orange  scarcely  hiding 
the  thin  sticks  of  legs  that  were  stained  with  henna  half-way 
up  the  calves,  like  painted  stockings.  Moors  from  across  the 
frontier  —  fierce  men  with  eagle  faces  and  striped  cloaks  — 
grouped  together,  whispering  and  gesticulating,  stared  at  with 
suspicion  by  the  milder  Arabs,  who  attributed  all  the  crimes  of 
Tlemcen  to  the  wild  men  from  over  the  border.  Black  giants 
from  the  Negro  quarter  kept  together,  somewhat  humble,  yet 
laughing  -and  happy.  Slender,  coffee-coloured  youths  drove 
miniature  cows  from  Morocco,  or  tiny  black  donkeys,  heavily 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  149 

laden  and  raw  with  sores,  colliding  with  well-dressed  Turks, 
who  had  the  air  of  merchants,  and  looked  as  if  they  could  not 
forget  that  Tlemcen  had  long  been  theirs  before  the  French 
dominion.  Bored  but  handsome  officers  rode  through  the 
square  on  Arab  horses  graceful  as  deer,  and  did  not  even  glance 
at  passing  women,  closely  veiled  in  long  white  ha'icks. 

It  was  lively  and  amusing  in  the  sunlight;  but  just  as 
the  two  friends  were  ready  to  go  out,  the  sky  was  swept  with 
violet  clouds.  A  storm  threatened  fiercely,  but  they  started 
out  despite  its  warning,  turning  deaf  ears  to  the  importunities 
of  a  Koulougli  guide  who  wished  to  show  them  the  mosques, 
"ver'  cheap."  He  followed  them,  but  they  hurried  on,  pushing 
so  sturdily  through  a  flock  of  pink-headed  sheep,  which  poured 
in  a  wave  over  the  pavement,  that  they  might  have  out-run  the 
rain  had  they  not  been  brought  to  a  sudden  standstill  by  a 
funeral  procession. 

It  was  the  strangest  sight  Stephen  had  seen  yet,  and  he 
hardly  noticed  that,  in  a  burst  of  sunlight,  rain  had  begun  to 
pelt  down  through  the  canopy  of  trees. 

The  band  of  figures  in  brown  burnouses  marched  quickly, 
with  a  sharp  rustling  of  many  slippered  feet  moving  in  unison, 
and  golden  spears  of  rain  seemed  to  pierce  the  white  turbans 
of  the  men  who  carried  the  bier.  As  they  marched,  fifty  voices 
rose  and  fell  wildly  in  a  stirring  chant,  exciting  and  terrible 
as  the  beat-beat  of  a  tom-tom,  sometimes  a  shout  of  barbaric 
triumph,  sometimes  a  mourning  wail.  Then,  abruptly,  a  halt 
was  made  in  the  glittering  rain,  and  the  bearers  were  changed, 
because  of  the  luck  it  brings  Arab  men  to  carry  the  corpse  of 
a  friend. 

Just  in  front  of  the  two  Englishmen  the  body  rested  for  an 
instant,  stretched  out  long  and  piteously  flat,  showing  its  thin 
shape  through  the  mat  of  woven  straw  which  wrapped  it,  only 
the  head  and  feet  being  wound  with  linen.  So,  by  and  by,  it 
would  be  laid,  without  a  coffin,  in  its  shallow  grave  in  the  Arab 
cemetery,  out  on  the  road  to  Sidi  Bou-Medine. 


150  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

There  were  but  a  few  seconds  of  delay.  Then  the  new 
bearers  lifted  the  bier  by  its  long  poles,  and  the  procession 
moved  swiftly,  feverishly,  on  again,  the  wild  chant  trailing 
behind  as  it  passed,  like  a  torn  war-banner.  The  thrill  of 
the  wailing  crept  through  Stephen's  veins,  and  roused  an  old, 
childish  superstition  which  an  Irish  nurse  had  implanted  in 
him  when  he  was  a  little  boy.  According  to  Peggy  Brian  it 
was  "a  cruel  bad  omen"  to  meet  a  funeral,  especially  after 
coming  into  a  new  town.  "Wait  for  a  corpse,"  said  she,  "an* 
ye'll  wait  while  yer  luck  goes  by." 

"They're  singing  a  song  in  praise  of  the  dead  man's  good 
deeds,  and  of  triumph  for  the  joys  he'll  know  in  Paradise," 
explained  Nevill.  "It's  only  the  women  who  weep  and  scratch 
their  faces  when  those  they  love  have  died.  The  men  rejoice, 
or  try  to.  Soon,  they  are  saying,  this  one  who  has  gone  will 
be  in  gardens  fair  as  the  gardens  of  Allah  Himself,  where  sit 
beautiful  houris,  in  robes  woven  of  diamonds,  sapphires,  and 
rubies,  each  gem  of  which  has  an  eye  of  its  own  that  glitters 
through  a  vapour  of  smouldering  ambergris,  while  fountains 
send  up  pearly  spray  in  the  shade  of  fragrant  cedars." 

"No  wonder  the  Mohammedan  poor  don't  fear  death,  if  they 
expect  to  exchange  their  hovels  for  such  quarters,"  said  Stephen. 
"I  wish  I  understood  Arabic." 

"It's  a  difficult  language  to  keep  in  your  mind,  and  I  don't 
know  it  well,"  Nevill  answered.  "But  Jeanne  and  Josette 
Soubise  speak  it  like  natives;  and  the  other  day  when  Miss 
Ray  lunched  with  us,  I  thought  her  knowledge  of  Arabic  won- 
derful for  a  person  who'd  picked  it  up  from  books." 

Stephen  did  not  answer.  He  wished  that  Nevill  had  not 
brought  the  thought  of  Victoria  into  his  mind  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  recalling  his  old  nurse's  silly  superstition.  Vic- 
toria laughed  at  superstitions,  but  he  was  not  sure  that  he  could 
laugh,  in  this  barbaric  land  where  it  seemed  that  anything 
might  happen. 


XVI 


NEVILL  had  not  sent  word  to  Josette  Soubise  that  he 
was  coming  to  see  her.  He  wished  to  make  the 
experiment  of  a  surprise,  although  he  insisted  that 
Stephen  should  be  with  him.  At  the  door  in  the 
high  white  wall  of  the  school -garden,  he  asked  an  unveiled 
crone  of  a  porteress  to  say  merely  that  two  gentlemen  had 
called. 

"She'll  suspect,  I'm  afraid,"  he  muttered  to  Stephen  as 
they  waited,  "even  if  her  sister  hasn't  written  that  I  thought 
of  turning  up.  But  she  won't  have  time  to  invent  a  valid 
excuse,  if  she  disapproves  of  the  visit." 

In  three  or  four  minutes  the  old  woman  hobbled  back, 
shuffling  slippered  feet  along  the  tiled  path  between  the  gate 
and  the  low  whitewashed  house.  Mademoiselle  requested 
that  ces  Messieurs  would  give  themselves  the  pain  of  walking 
into  the  garden.  She  would  descend  almost  at  once. 

They  obeyed,  Nevill  stricken  dumb  by  the  thought  of  his 
coming  happiness.  Stephen  would  have  liked  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion or  two  about  the  school,  but  he  refrained,  sure  that  if 
Nevill  were  forced  into  speech  he  would  give  random  answers. 

This  was  being  in  love  —  the  real  thing !  And  Stephen 
dimly  envied  his  friend,  even  though  Caird  seemed  to  have 
small  hope  of  winning  the  girl.  It  was  far  better  to  love  a 
woman  you  could  never  marry,  than  to  be  obliged  to  marry 
one  you  could  never  love. 

He  imagined  himself  waiting  to  welcome  Margot,  beautiful 
Margot,  returning  from  Canada  to  him.  He  would  have  to  go 
to  Liverpool,  of  course.  She  would  be  handsomer  than  ever, 

151 


152  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

probably,  and  he  could  picture  their  meeting,  seven  or  eight 
weeks  from  now.  Would  his  face  wear  such  an  expression  as 
Nevill's  wore  at  this  moment  ?  He  knew  well  that  it  would  not. 

"She  is  coming!"  said  Nevill,  under  his  breath. 

The  door  of  the  schoolhouse  was  opening,  and  Nevill  moved 
forward  as  a  tall  and  charming  young  woman  appeared,  like  a 
picture  in  a  dark  frame. 

She  was  slepder,  with  a  tiny  waist,  though  her  bust  was 
full,  and  her  figure  had  the  intensely  feminine  curves  which 
artists  have  caused  to  be  associated  with  women  of  the  Latin 
races;  her  eyes  were  like  those  of  her  elder  sister,  but  larger 
and  more  brilliant.  So  big  and  splendid  they  were  that  they 
made  the  smooth  oval  of  her  olive  face  seem  small.  Quan- 
tities of  heavy  black  hair  rippled  away  from  a  forehead  which 
would  have  been  square  if  the  hair  had  not  grown  down  in 
a  point  like  a  Marie  Stuart  cap.  Her  chin  was  pointed,  with 
a  deep  cleft  in  the  middle,  and  the  dimples  Nevill  had  praised 
flashed  suddenly  into  being,  as  if  a  ray  of  sunshine  had  touched 
her  pale  cheeks. 

"Mon  bon  ami!"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  both  hands  in 
token  of  comradeship,  and  putting  emphasis  on  her  last 
word. 

"She's  determined  the  poor  chap  shan't  forget  they're  only 
friends,"  thought  Stephen,  wishing  that  Caird  had  not  insisted 
upon  his  presence  at  this  first  meeting.  And  in  a  moment  he 
was  being  introduced  to  Mademoiselle  Josette  Soubise. 

"Did  I  surprise  you?"  asked  Nevill,  looking  at  her  as  if  he 
could  never  tear  his  eyes  away,  though  he  spoke  in  an  ordinary 
tone. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  want  me  to  say  'yes',"  she  laughed.  "I'd 
like  to  tell  a  white  fib,  to  please  you.  But  no,  I  am  not  quite 
surprised,  for  my  sister  wrote  that  you  might  come,  and  why. 
What  a  pity  you  had  this  long  journey  for  nothing.  My 
Kabyle  maid,  Mouni,  has  just  gone  to  her  home,  far  away  in  a 
little  village  near  Michelet,  in  la  Grande  Kabylia.  She  is  to 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  153 

be  married  to  her  cousin,  the  chief's  son,  whom  she  has  always 
loved  —  but  there  were  obstacles  till  now." 

"Obstacles  can  always  be  overcome,"  broke  in  Nevill. 

Josette  would  not  understand  any  hidden  meaning.  "It  is 
a  great  pity  about  Mouni,"  she  went  on.  "Only  four  days 
ago  she  left.  I  gave  her  the  price  of  the  journey,  for  a  wedding 
present.  She  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  shall  miss  her.  But  of 
course  you  can  write  to  ask  her  questions.  She  reads  a  little 
French." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  go  ourselves,"  Nevill  answered,  glanc- 
ing at  Stephen's  disappointed  face.  "For  I  know  Miss  Ray 
can't  be  here,  or  you  would  have  said  so." 

"No,  she  is  not  here,"  echoed  Josette,  looking  astonished. 
"Jeanne  wrote  about  the  American  young  lady  searching  for 
her  sister,  but  she  did  not  say  she  might  visit  Tlemcen." 

"We  hoped  she  would,  that's  all,"  explained  Nevill.  "She's 
left  her  hotel  in  Algiers  in  a  mysterious  way,  not  telling  where 
she  meant  to  go,  although  she  assured  us  she'd  be  safe,  and  we 
needn't  worry.  However,  naturally  we  do  worry." 

"But  of  course.  I  see  how  it  is."  The  dimples  were  gone, 
and  the  brightness  of  Josette 's  eyes  was  overcast.  She  looked 
at  Nevill  wistfully,  and  a  flash  of  sympathetic  understanding 
enlightened  Stephen.  No  doubt  she  was  generously  solicitous 
for  the  fate  of  Victoria  Ray,  but  there  was  something  different 
from  solicitude  in  her  darkening  eyes. 

"Good!  she's  jealous.  She  thinks  Nevill's  heart's  been 
caught  in  the  rebound,"  he  told  himself.  But  Nevill  remained 
modestly  unconscious. 

"Miss  Ray  may  arrive  yet,"  he  suggested.  "We'd  better 
stop  to-day,  anyhow,  on  the  chance;  don't  you  think  so,  Stephen  ? 
and  then,  if  there's  no  news  of  her  when  we  get  back  to  Algiers, 
go  on  to  interview  the  bride  in  Grand  Kabylia?" 

Stephen  had  not  the  heart  to  dispute  the  wisdom  of  this 
decision,  though  he  was  sure  that,  since  Victoria  was  not  in 
Tlemcen  now,  she  would  never  come. 


154  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"  So  you  think  we've  made  a  long  journey  for  nothing,  Made- 
moiselle Josette?"  said  Nevill. 

"But  yes.     So  it  turns  out." 

"Seeing  an  old  friend  doesn't  count,  then  ?" 

"Oh,  well,  that  can  seem  but  little  —  in  comparison  to 
what  you  hoped.  Still,  you  can  show  Monsieur  Knight  the 
sights.  He  may  not  guess  how  beautiful  they  are.  Have  you 
told  him  there  are  things  here  as  wonderful  as  in  the  Alhambra 
itself,  things  made  by  the  Moors  who  were  in  Granada?" 

"I've  told  him  about  all  I  care  most  for  in  Tlemcen,"  returned 
Nevill,  with  that  boyish  demureness  he  affected  sometimes. 
"But  I'm  not  a  competent  cicerone.  If  you  want  Knight 
to  do  justice  to  the  wonders  of  this  place,  you'll  have  to  be 
our  guide.  We've  got  room  for  several  large-sized  chaperons 
in  the  car.  Do  come.  Don't  say  you  won't!  I  feel  as  if  I 
couldn't  stand  it." 

His  tone  was  so  desperate  that  Josette  laughed  some  of 
her  brightness  back  again.  "Then  I  suppose  I  mustn't  refuse. 
And  I  should  like  going  —  after  school  hours.  Madame  de 
Vaux,  who  is  the  bride  of  a  French  officer,  will  join  us,  I  think, 
for  she  and  I  are  friends,  and  besides,  she  has  had  no  chance 
to  see  things  yet.  She  has  been  busy  settling  in  her  quarters 
—  and  I  have  helped  her  a  little." 

"When  can  you  start?"  asked  Nevill,  enraptured  at  tho 
prospect  of  a  few  happy  hours  snatched  from  fate. 

"Not  till  five." 

His  face  fell.     "But  that's  cruel!" 

"It  would  be  cruel  to  my  children  to  desert  them  sooner. 
Don't  forget  I  am  malema  —  malema  before  all.  And  there 
will  be  time  for  seeing  nearly  everything.  We  can  go  to  Sidi 
Bou-Medine,  afterwards  to  the  ruins  of  Mansourah  by  sunset. 
Meanwhile,  show  your  friend  the  things  near  by,  without 
me;  the  old  town,  with  its  different  quarters  for  the  Jews, 
the  Arabs,  and  the  Negroes.  He  will  like  the  leather-workers 
and  the  bakers,  and  the  weavers  of  haicks.  And  you  will  not 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  155 

need  me  for  the  Grande  Mosquee,  or  for  the  Mosquee  of  Aboul 
Hassan,  where  Monsieur  Knight  will  see  the  most  beautiful 
mihrab  in  all  the  world.  When  he  has  looked  at  that,  he  can- 
not be  sorry  he  has  come  to  Tlemcen;  and  if  he  has  regrets, 
Sidi  Bou-Medine  will  take  them  away." 

"Has  Sidi  Bou-Medine  the  power  to  cure  all  sorrows?" 
Stephen  asked,  smiling. 

"Indeed,  yes.  Why,  Sidi  Bou-Medine  himself  is  one  of  the 
greatest  marabouts.  You  have  but  to  take  a  pinch  of  earth 
from  his  tomb,  and  make  a  wish  upon  it.  Only  one  wish,  but 
it  is  sure  to  be  granted,  whatever  it  may  be,  if  you  keep  the 
packet  of  earth  afterwards,  and  wear  it  near  your  heart." 

'What  a  shame  you  never  told  me  that  before.  The  time 
I've  wasted!"  exclaimed  Nevill.  "But  I'll  make  up  for  it  now. 
Thank  Heaven  I'm  superstitious." 

They  had  forgotten  Stephen,  and  laughing  into  each  other's 
eyes,  were  perfectly  happy  for  the  moment.  Stephen  was  glad, 
yet  he  felt  vaguely  resentful  that  they  could  forget  the  girl  for 
whose  sake  the  journey  to  Tlemcen  had  ostensibly  been  under- 
taken. They  were  ready  to  squander  hours  in  a  pretence  of 
sightseeing,  hours  which  might  have  been  spent  in  getting  back 
to  Algiers  and  so  hastening  on  the  expedition  to  Grand  Kabylia. 
How  selfish  people  in  love  could  be!  And  charming  as  Josette 
Soubise  was,  it  seemed  strange  to  Stephen  that  she  should  stand 
for  perfection  to  a  man  who  had  seen  Victoria  Ray. 

Nevill  was  imploring  Josette  to  lunch  with  them,  chap- 
eroned by  Madame  de  Vaux,  and  Josette  was  firmly  refusing. 
Then  he  begged  that  they  might  leave  money  as  a  gift  for  the 
malema's  scholars,  and  this  offer  she  accepted,  only  regretting 
that  the  young  men  could  not  be  permitted  to  give  the  cadeau 
with  their  own  hands.  "My  girls  are  so  pretty,"  she  said,  "and 
it  is  a  picture  to  see  them  at  their  embroidery  frames,  or  the  car- 
pet making,  their  fingers  flying,  their  eyes  always  on  the  col- 
oured designs,  wrhich  are  the  same  as  their  ancestresses  used 
a  century  ago,  before  the  industry  declined.  I  love  them  all, 


156  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  dear  creatures,  and  they  love  me,  though  I  am  a  Roumia 
and  an  unbeliever.     I  ought  to  be  happy  in  their  affection, 
helping  them  to  success.     And  now  I  must  run  back  to  my 
flock,  or  the  lambs  will  be  getting  into  mischief.     Au  revoir  - 
five  o'clock.     You  will  find  me  waiting  with  Madame  de  Vaux." 

At  luncheon,  in  the  bare,  cool  dining-room  of  the  hotel, 
Nevill  was  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  He  sat  half  smiling,  not 
knowing  what  he  ate,  hardly  conscious  of  the  talk  and  laughter 
of  the  French  officers  at  another  table.  Just  at  the  last,  how- 
ever, he  roused  himself.  "I  can't  help  being  happy.  I  see 
her  so  seldom.  And  I  keep  turning  over  in  my  mind  what  new 
arguments  in  favour  of  myself  I  can  bring  forward  when  I 
propose  this  afternoon  —  for  of  course  I  shall  propose,  if  you 
and  the  bride  will  kindly  give  me  the  chance.  I  know  she 
won't  have  me  —  but  I  always  do  propose,  on  the  principle 
that  much  dropping  may  wear  away  a  stone." 

"Suppose  you  break  the  habit  just  for  once,"  ventured 
Stephen. 

Nevill  looked  anxious.  "Why,  do  you  think  the  case  is 
hopeless  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary.  But  —  well,  I  can't  help  feeling  it  would 
do  you  more  good  to  show  an  absorbing  interest  in  Miss  Ray's 
affairs,  this  time." 

"So  I  have  an  absorbing  interest,"  Nevill  protested,  remorse- 
fully. "I  don't  want  you  to  suppose  I  mean  to  neglect  them. 
I  assure  you  — 

Stephen  laughed,  though  a  little  constrainedly.  "Don't 
apologise,  my  dear  fellow.  Miss  Ray's  no  more  to  me  than 
to  you,  except  that  I  happened  to  make  her  acquaintance  a 
few  days  sooner." 

"I  know,"  Nevill  agreed,  mildly.  Then,  after  a  pause, 
which  he  earnestly  occupied  in  crumbling  bread  "Only  I'm 
head  over  ears  in  love  with  another  woman,  while  you're  free 
to  think  of  her,  or  any  other  girl,  every  minute  of  the 
day." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  157 

Stephen's  face  reddened.  "I  am  not  free,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  hoped  you  were.  I  still  think  - — 
you  ought  to  be."  Nevill  spoke  quickly,  and  without  giving 
Stephen  time  to  reply,  he  hurried  on;  "Miss  Ray  may  arrive 
here  yet.  Or  she  may  have  found  out  about  Mouni  in  some 
other  way,  and  have  gone  to  see  her  in  Grand  Kabylia  —  who 
knows?" 

"If  she  were  merely  going  there  to  inquire  about  her  sister, 
why  should  she  have  to  make  a  mystery  of  her  movements  ?" 

"Well,  it's  on  the  cards  that  whatever  she  wanted  to  do, 
she  didn't  care  to  be  bothered  with  our  troublesome  advice 
and  offers  of  help.  Our  interest  was,  perhaps,  too  pressing." 

"Mademoiselle  Soubise  is  of  that  opinion,  anyhow — in 
regard  to  you,"  remarked  Stephen. 

"What — that  angel  jealous?  It's  too  good  to  be  true! 
But  I'll  relieve  her  mind  of  any  such  idea." 

"If  you'll  take  one  more  tip  from  me,  I'd  leave  her  mind 
alone  for  the  present." 

"Why,  you  flinty-hearted  reprobate?" 

"Well,  I'm  no  authority.  But  all's  fair  in  love  and  war. 
And  sometimes  an  outsider  sees  features  of  the  game  which  the 
players  don't  see." 

"That's  true,  anyhow,"  Nevill  agreed.  "Let's  both  remem- 
ber that — eh?"  and  he  got  up  from  the  table  abruptly, 
as  if  to  keep  Stephen  from  answering,  or  asking  what  he 
meant. 

They  had  several  empty  hours,  between  the  time  of  finish- 
ing luncheon,  and  five  o'clock,  when  they  were  to  meet  Made- 
moiselle Soubise  and  her  chaperon,  so  they  took  Josette's 
advice  and  went  sightseeing. 

Preoccupied  as  he  was,  Stephen  could  not  be  indifferent 
to  the  excursion,  for  Tlemcen  is  the  shrine  of  gems  in  Arab 
architecture,  only  equalled  at  Granada  itself.  Though  he  was 
so  ignorant  still  of  eastern  lore,  that  he  hardly  knew  the  mean- 


158  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ing  of  the  word  mihrab,  the  arched  recess  looking  towards 
Mecca,  in  the  Mosque  of  the  lawyer-saint  Aboul  Hassan,  held 
him  captive  for  many  moments  with  its  beauty.  Its  ornamenta- 
tion was  like  the  spread  tail  of  Nevill's  white  peacock,  or  the 
spokes  of  a  silver  wheel  incrusted  with  an  intricate  pattern  in 
jewels.  Not  a  mosque  in  town,  or  outside  the  gates,  did  they 
leave  unvisited,  lest,  as  Nevill  said,  Josette  Soubise  should  ask 
embarrassing  questions;  and  the  last  hour  of  probation  they 
gave  to  the  old  town.  There,  as  they  stopped  to  look  in  at 
the  workshops  of  the  weavers,  and  the  bakers,  or  stared  at  the 
hands  of  Fatma-Zora  painted  in  henna  on  the  doors  of  Jews 
and  True  Believers,  crowds  of  ragged  boys  and  girls  followed 
them,  laughing  and  begging  as  gaily  as  if  begging  were  a  game. 
Only  this  band  of  children,  and  heavily  jewelled  girls  of  Morocco 
or  Spain,  with  unveiled,  ivory  faces  and  eyes  like  suns,  looked 
at  the  Englishmen,  as  Stephen  and  Nevill  passed  the  isolated 
blue  and  green  houses,  in  front  of  which  the  women  sat  in  a 
bath  of  sunshine.  Arabs  and  Jews  walked  by  proudly,  and 
did  not  seem  to  see  that  there  were  strangers  in  their  midst. 

When  at  last  it  was  time  to  go  back  to  the  hotel,  and  motor 
to  the  Ecole  Indigene,  Josette  was  ready,  plainly  dressed  in 
black.  She  introduced  her  friends  to  the  bride,  Madame  de 
Vaux,  a  merry  young  woman,  blonde  by  nature  and  art,  who 
laughed  always,  like  the  children  in  the  Arab  town.  She 
admired  Knight  far  more  than  Caird,  because  she  liked  tall, 
dark  men,  her  own  husband  being  red  and  stout.  Therefore, 
she  would  have  been  delighted  to  play  the  tactful  chaperon,  if 
Josette  had  not  continually  broken  in  upon  her  duet  with 
Stephen,  ordering  them  bqth  to  look  at  this  or  that. 

The  country  through  which  they  drove  after  passing  out  of 
the  gate  in  the  modern  French  wall,  might  have  been  the 
south  of  England  in  midsummer,  had  it  not  been  peopled  by  the 
dignified  Arab  figures  which  never  lost  their  strangeness  and 
novelty  for  Stephen.  Here,  in  the  west  country,  they  glit- 
tered in  finery  like  gorgeous  birds:  sky-blue  jacket,  scarlet  fez 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  159 

and  sash  glowing  behind  a  lacework  of  green  branches  netted 
•with  flowers,  where  a  man  hoed  his  fields  or  planted  his  garden. 

Hung  with  a  tapestry  of  roses,  immense  brown  walls  lay 
crumbling  —  ruined  gateways,  and  shattered  traces  of  the 
triple  fortifications  which  defended  Tlemcen  when  the  Almo- 
hades  were  in  power.  By  a  clear  rill  of  water  gushing  along 
the  roadside,  a  group  of  delicate  broken  arches  marked  the 
tomb  of  the  "flying  saint,"  Sidi  Abou  Ishad  el  Ta'iyer,  an  early 
Wright  or  Bleriot  who  could  swim  through  the  air;  and  though 
in  his  grave  a  chest  of  gold  was  said  to  be  buried,  no  one  — 
not  even  the  lawless  men  from  over  the  border  —  had  ever 
dared  dig  for  the  treasure.  Close  by,  under  the  running  water, 
a  Moor  had  found  a  huge  lump  of  silver  which  must  have  lain 
for  no  one  could  tell  how  many  years,  looking  like  a  grey  stone 
under  a  sheet  of  glass;  nevertheless,  the  neighbouring  tomb 
had  still  remained  inviolate,  for  Sidi  Abou  Ishad  el  Taiiyer  was 
a  much  respected  saint,  even  more  loved  than  the  marabout 
who  sent  rain  for  the  gift  of  a  sacrificed  fowl,  or  he  who  cured 
sore  eyes  in  answer  to  prayer.  Only  Sidi  Bou-Medine  himself 
was  more  important;  and  presently  (because  the  distance  was 
short,  though  the  car  had' travelled  slowly)  they  came  to  the 
footpath  in  the  hills  which  must  be  ascended  on  foot,  to  reach  the 
shrine  of  the  powerful  saint,  friend  of  great  Sidi  Abd  el  Kader. 

Already  they  could  see  the  minaret  of  the  mosque,  high 
above  the  mean  village  which  clustered  round  it,  rising  as  a 
flame  rises  against  a  windless  sky,  while  beneath  this  shining 
Giralda  lay  half-ruined  houses  rejuvenated  with  whitewash  or 
coats  of  vivid  blue.  They  passed  up  a  narrow  street  redeemed 
from  sordidness  by  a  domed  koubbah  or  two;  and  from  the 
roofed  balconies  of  cafes  maures,  Arabs  looked  down  on  them 
with  large,  dreamy  eyes  like  clouded  stars.  All  the  glory  and 
pride  of  the  village  was  concentrated  in  the  tomb  and  beautiful 
mosque  of  the  saint  whose  name  falls  sweet  on  the  ear  as  the 
music  of  a  summer  storm,  the  tinkle  and  boom  of  rain  and 
thunder  coming  together:  Sidi  Bou-Medine. 


160  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Toddling  girls  with  henna-dyed  hair,  and  miniature  brown 
men,  like  blowing  flower-petals  in  scarlet,  yellow,  and  blue,  who 
had  swarmed  up  the  street  after  the  Roumis,  stopped  at  the 
portals  of  the  mosque  and  the  sacred  tomb.  But  there  was  a 
humming  in  the  air  like  the  song  of  bees,  which  floated  rhythmi- 
cally out  from  the  zaoui'a,  the  school  in  the  mosque  where  many 
boys  squatted  cross-legged  before  the  aged  Taleb  who  taught 
the  Koran;  bowing,  swaying  towards  him,  droning  out  the 
words  of  the  Prophet,  some  half  asleep,  nodding  against  the 
onyx  pillars. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  mosque  it  was  cool,  .though  the  crown 
of  the  minaret,  gemmed  with  priceless  tiles  from  Fez,  blazed 
in  the  sun's  rays  as  if  it  were  on  fire.  Into  this  coolness  the 
four  strangers  passed,  involuntarily  hushing  their  voices  in 
the  portico  of  decorated  walls  and  hanging  honeycombs  of  stucco 
whence,  through  great  doors  of  ancient,  greenish  bronze  (doors 
said  to  have  arrived  miraculously  from  across  the  sea),  they 
found  their  way  into  a  courtyard  open  to  the  sky,  where  a 
fountain  waved  silver  plumes  over  a  marble  basin.  Two  or 
three  dignified  Arab  men  bathed  their  feet  in  preparation  for 
the  afternoon  prayer,  and  tired  travellers  from  a  distance  slept 
upon  mats  of  woven  straw,  spread  on  tiles  like  a  pavement  of 
precious  stones,  or  dozed  in  the  little  cells  made  for  the  students 
who  came  in  the  grand  old  days.  The  sons  of  Islam  were 
reverent,  yet  happy  and  at  home  on  the  threshold  of  Allah's 
house,  and  Stephen  began  to  understand,  as  Nevill  and  Josette 
already  understood,  something  of  the  vast  influence  of  the 
Mohammedan  religion.  Only  Madame  de  Vaux  remained 
flippant.  In  the  car,  she  had  laughed  at  the  women  muffled 
in  their  haicks,  saying  that  as  the  men  of  Tlemcen  were  so 
tyrannical  about  hiding  female  faces,  it  was  strange  they  did 
not  veil  the  hens  and  cows.  In  the  shadowy  mosque,  with 
its  five  naves,  she  giggled  at  the  yellow  babouches  out  of  which 
her  little  high-heeled  shoes  slipped,  and  threatened  to  recite  a 
French  verse  under  the  delicate  arch  of  the  pale  blue  mihrab. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  161 

But  Stephen  was  impressed  with  the  serene  beauty  of  the 
Moslem  temple,  where,  between  labyrinths  of  glimmering 
pillars  like  young  ash  trees  in  moonlight,  across  vistas  of  rain- 
bow-coloured rugs  like  flower-beds,  the  worshippers  looked 
out  at  God's  blue  sky  instead  of  peering  through  thick,  stained- 
glass  windows;  where  the  music  was  the  murmur  of  running 
water,  instead  of  sounding  organ-pipes;  and  where  the  winds 
of  heaven  bore  away  the  odours  of  incense  before  they  staled. 
He  wondered  whether  a  place  of  prayer  like  this  —  white- 
walled,  severely  simple  despite  the  veil-like  adornment  of  arab- 
esques— did  not  more  tend  to  religious  contemplation  than  a 
cathedral  of  Italy  or  Spain,  with  its  bloodstained  Christs,  its 
Virgins,  and  its  saints.  Did  this  Arab  art  perhaps  more  truly 
express  the  fervour  of  faith  which  needs  no  extraneous  elabora- 
tions, because  it  has  no  doubts?  But  presently  calling  up  a 
vision  of  the  high,  dim  aisles,  the  strong  yet  soaring  columns, 
all  the  mysterious  purity  of  gothic  cathedrals,  he  convinced  him- 
self that,  after  all,  the  old  monkish  architects  had  the  real  secret 
of  mystic  aspirations  in  the  human  heart. 

When  Josette  and  Nevill  led  the  way  out  of  the  mosque, 
Stephen  was  in  the  right  mood  for  the  tomb  of  that  ineffable 
saint  of  Islam,  Shaoib  ibn  Husain  el  Andalousi,  Sidi  Bou- 
Medine.  He  was  almost  ready  to  believe  in  the  extraordinary 
virtue  of  the  earth  which  had  the  honour  of  covering  the  mara- 
bout's remains.  It  annoyed  him  that  Madame  de  Vaux  should 
laugh  at  the  lowness  of  the  doorway  under  which  they  had  to 
stoop,  and  that  she  should  make  fun  of  the  suspended  ostrich 
eggs,  the  tinselled  pictures  and  mirrors,  the  glass  lustres  and 
ancient  lanterns,  the  spilt  candle-wax  of  many  colours,  or 
the  old,  old  flags  which  covered  the  walls  and  the  high  struc- 
ture of  carved  wood  which  was  the  saint's  last  resting-place. 

A  grave  Arab  who  approved  their  air  of  respect,  gave  a  pinch 
of  earth  each  to  Stephen  and  Nevill,  wrapped  in  paper,  repeat- 
ing Josette's  assurance  that  their  wishes  would  be  granted.  It 
would  be  necessary,  he  added,  to  reflect  long  before  selecting 


162  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  one  desire  of  the  soul  which  was  to  be  put  above  all  others. 
But  Nevill  had  no  hesitation.  He  wished  instantly,  and 
tucked  the  tiny  parcel  away  in  the  pocket  nearest  his  heart. 

"  And  you,  Monsieur  ? "  asked  Madame  de  Vaux,  smiling  at 
Stephen.  "  It  does  not  appear  easy  to  choose.  Ah,  now  you 
have  decided !  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  wished  ?  " 

"I  think  I  mustn't  do  that.  Saints  favour  those  who  can 
keep  secrets,"  said  Stephen,  teasingly.  Yet  he  made  his  wish 
in  earnest,  after  turning  over  several  in  his  mind.  To  ask  for 
his  own  future  happiness,  in  spite  of  obstacles  which  would 
prove  the  marabout's  power,  was  the  most  intelligent  thing 
to  do;  but  somehow  the  desire  clamouring  loudest  at  the 
moment  was  for  Victoria,  and  the  rest  might  go  ungranted. 

"  I  wish  that  I  may  find  her  safe  and  happy,"  he  said  over 
the  pinch  of  earth  before  putting  it  into  what  Josette  named 
his  "poche  du  cceur." 

"As  for  me,"  remarked  Madame  de  Vaux,  "I  will  not 
derange  any  of  their  Moslem  saints,  thank  you.  I  have  more 
influential  ones  of  my  own,  who  might  be  annoyed.  And  it 
is  stuffy  in  this  tomb.  I  am  sure  it  is  full  of  microbes.  Let 
us  go  and  see  the  ruined  palace  of  the  Black  Sultan  who,  Josette 
says,  founded  everything  here  that  was  worth  founding.  That 
there  should  be  a  Black  Sultan  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale.  And  I 
like  fairy  tales  next  to  bon-bons  and  new  hats." 

So  they  made  their  pilgrimage  to  the  third  treasure  of  the 
hill- village;  and  then  away  to  where  the  crumbling  walls  of 
Mansourah,  and  that  great  tower,  which  is  one  of  the  noblest 
Moorish  relics  in  all  Algeria,  rise  out  of  a  flowering  plain. 

Cherry  blossoms  fell  in  scented  snow  over  their  heads  as  the 
car  ran  back  to  Tlemcen,  and  out  once  more,  through  the 
Moorish  Porte  de  Fez,  past  the  reservoir  built  by  a  king  for 
an  Arab  beauty  to  sail  her  boats  upon.  Sunset  was  near,  and 
the  sky  blazed  red  as  if  Mansourah  burned  with  ten  thousand 
torches. 

The  way  led  through  vast  blue  lakes  which  were  fields  of 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  163 

periwinkles,  and  along  the  road  trotted  pink-robed  children, 
whose  heads  were  wrapped  in  kerchiefs  of  royal  purple.  They 
led  sheep  with  golden-gleaming  fleece,  and  at  the  tombs  of 
marabouts  they  paused  to  pray,  among  groups  of  kneeling 
figures  in  long  white  cloaks  and  turbans.  All  the  atmosphere 
swam  with  changing  colours,  such  as  come  and  go  in  the  heart 
of  a  fire-opal. 

Very  beautiful  must  have  been  the  city  of  Mansourah,  named 
after  murdered  Sultan  el  Mansour,  the  Victorious,  who  built 
its  vast  fortifications,  its  mosques  and  vanished  palaces,  its 
caravanserais  and  baths,  in  the  seven  years  when  he  was  besieg- 
ing Tlemcen.  And  still  are  its  ruins  beautiful,  after  more  than 
five  centuries  of  pillage  and  destruction.  Josette  Soubise 
loved  the  place,  and  often  came  to  it  when  her  day's  work  was 
done,  therefore  she  was  happy  showing  it  to  Nevill  and  — 
incidentally  —  to  the  others. 

The  great  brown  wall  pricked  with  holes  like  an  enormous 
wasp's  nest,  the  ruined  watch-towers,  and  the  soaring,  honey- 
coloured  minaret  with  its  intricate  carvings,  its  marble  pillars, 
its  tiles  and  inset  enamels  iridescent  as  a  Brazilian  beetle's  wing, 
all  gleamed  with  a  splendour  that  was  an  enchantment,  in  the 
fire  of  sunset.  The  scent  of  aromatic  herbs,  such  as  Arabs  love 
and  use  to  cure  their  fevers,  was  bitter-sweet  in  the  fall  of  the 
dew,  and  birds  cried  to  each  other  from  hidden  nests  among  the 
ruins. 

"Mussulmans  think  that  the  spirits  of  their  dead  fly  back 
to  visit  their  own  graves,  or  places  they  have  loved,  in  the 
form  of  birds,"  said  Josette,  looking  up  at  the  minaret,  large 
marguerites  with  orange  centres  embroidering  her  black  dress, 
as  she  stood  knee-deep  in  their  waving  gold.  "I  half  believe 
that  these  birds  among  the  lovely  carvings  of  the  tower  are  the 
priests  who  used  to  read  the  Koran  in  the  mosque,  and  could 
not  bear  to  leave  it.  The  birds  in  the  walls  are  the  soldiers 
who  defended  the  city." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  flight  of  wings,  black  against  the 


164  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

rose  and  mauve  of  the  sunset.  "There!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Arabs  would  call  that  an  omen!  To  see  birds  flying  at  sun- 
down has  a  special  meaning  for  them.  If  a  man  wanted  some- 
thing, he  would  know  that  he  could  get  it  only  by  going  in  the 
direction  the  birds  take." 

"  Which  way  are  they  flying  ?  "  asked  Stephen. 

All  four  followed  the  flight  of  wings  with  their  eyes. 

"They  are  going  south-east,"  said  Nevill. 


XVII 

IF  VICTORIA  RAY  had  accepted  Nevill  Caird's  invi- 
tation to  be  Lady  MacGregor's  guest  and  his,  at  Djenan 
el  Djouad,  many  things  might  have  been  different.     But 
she  had  wished  to  be  independent,  and  had  chosen  to 
go  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah. 

When  she  went  down  to  dinner  in  the  salle  a  manger,  shortly 
after  seven  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  her  arrival,  only  two  other 
tables  were  occupied,  for  it  was  late  in  the  season,  and  tourists 
were  leaving  Algiers. 

No  one  who  had  been  on  board  the  diaries  Quex  was  there, 
and  Victoria  saw  that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  room. 
At  one  table  sat  a  happy  party  of  Germans,  apparently  dressed 
from  head  to  foot  by  Dr.  Jaeger,  and  at  another  were  two 
middle-aged  men  who  had  the  appearance  of  commercial 
travellers.  By  and  by  an  elderly  Jew  came  in,  and  dinner 
had  reached  the  stage  of  peppery  mutton  ragout,  when  the 
door  opened  again.  Victoria's  place  was  almost  opposite, 
and  involuntarily,  she  glanced  up.  The  handsome  Arab 
who  had  crossed  from  Marseilles  on  the  boat  saluted  her  with 
grave  courtesy  as  he  met  her  look,  and  passed  on,  casting 
down  his  eyes.  He  was  shown  to  a  table  at  some  distance, 
the  manner  of  the  Arab  waiter  who  conducted  him  being 
so  impressive,  that  Victoria  was  sure  the  newcomer  must  be  a 
person  of  importance. 

He  was  beautifully  dressed,  as  before,  and  the  Germans 
stared  at  him  frankly,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  their 
existence.  Special  dishes  arrived  for  him,  and  evidently  he 
had  been  expected. 

165 


166  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

There  was  but  one  waiter  to  serve,  the  meal,  and  not  only 
did  he  somewhat  neglect  the  other  diners  for  the  sake  of  the 
latest  arrival,  but  the  landlord  appeared,  and  stood  talking 
with  the  Arab  while  he  ate,  with  an  air  of  respect  and 
consideration. 

The  Germans,  who  had  nearly  finished  their  dinner  when 
Victoria  came  in,  now  left  the  table,  using  their  toothpicks 
and  staring  with  the  open-eyed  interest  of  children  at  the 
picturesque  figure  near  the  door.  The  commercial  travel- 
lers and  the  Jew  followed.  Victoria  also  was  ready  to  go, 
when  the  landlord  came  to  her  table,  bowing. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  French,  "I  am  charged  with  a 
message  from  an  Arab  gentleman  of  distinction,  who  honours 
my  house  by  his  presence.  Sidi  Maieddine  ben  el  Hadj 
Messaoud  is  the  son  of  an  Agha,  and  therefore  he  is  a  lord, 
and  Mademoiselle  need  have  no  uneasiness  that  he  would 
condescend  to  an  indiscretion.  He  instructs  me  to  present 
his  respectful  compliments  to  Mademoiselle,  whom  he  saw 
on  the  ship  which  brought  him  home,  after  carrying  through 
a  mission  in  France.  Seeing  that  Mademoiselle  travelled 
alone,  and  intends  perhaps  to  continue  doing  so,  according  to 
the  custom  of  her  courageous  and  intelligent  countrywomen, 
Sidi  Maieddine  wishes  to  say  that,  as  a  person  who  has  in- 
fluence in  his  own  land,  he  would  be  pleased  to  serve  Mademoi- 
selle, if  she  would  honour  him  by  accepting  his  offer  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  is  made:  that  is,  as  the  chivalrous  service 
of  a  gentleman  to  a  lady.  He  will  not  dream  of  addressing 
Mademoiselle,  unless  she  graciously  permits." 

As  the  landlord  talked  on,  Victoria  glanced  across  the  room 
at  the  Arab,  and  though  his  eyes  were  bent  upon  his  plate, 
he  seemed  to  feel  the  girl's  look,  as  if  by  a  kind  of  telepathy, 
instantly  meeting  it  with  what  seemed  to  her  questioning  eyes 
a  sincere  and  disarming  gaze. 

"Tell  Sidi  Maieddine  ben  el  Hadj  Messaoud  that  I  thank 
him,"  she  answered,  rewarded  for  her  industry  in  keeping 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  167 

up  French,  which  she  spoke  fluently,  with  the  Parisian  accent 
she  had  caught  as  a  child  in  Paris.  "It  is  possible  that  he 
can  help  me,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  talk  with  him." 

"In  that  case  Si  Mai'eddine  would  suggest  that  Mademoiselle 
grant  him  a  short  interview  in  the  private  sitting-room  of  my 
wife,  Madame  Constant,  who  will  be  honoured,"  the  fat  man 
replied  promptly.  "It  would  not  be  wise  for  Mademoiselle 
to  be  seen  by  strangers  talking  with  the  distinguished  gentle-^ 
man,  whose  acquaintance  she  is  to  make.  This,  largely  for 
her  own  sake;  but  also  for  his,  or  rather,  for  the  sake  of  cer- 
tain diplomatic  interests  which  he  is  appointed  to  carry  out. 
Officially,  he  is  supposed  to  have  left  Algiers  to-day.  And  it 
is  by  his  permission  that  I  mention  the  matter  to  Mademoiselle." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  think  best,"  said  Victoria,  who  was 
too  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  worry  about  conventionalities. 
She  was  so  young,  and  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  society, 
that  a  small  transgression  against  social  laws  appeared  of 
little  importance  to  a  girl  situated  as  she  was. 

"  Would  the  time  immediately  after  dinner  suit  Mademoiselle, 
for  Si  Maieddine  to  pay  his  respects?" 

Victoria  answered  that  she  would  be  pleased  to  talk  with 
Si  Maieddine  as  soon  as  convenient  to  him,  and  Monsieur 
Constant  hurried  away  to  prepare  his  wife.  While  he  was 
absent  the  Arab  did  not  again  look  at  Victoria,  and  she  under- 
stood that  this  reserve  arose  from  delicacy.  Her  heart  began 
to  beat,  and  she  felt  that  the  way  to  her  sister  might  be  opening 
at  last.  The  fact  that  she  did  feel  this,  made  her  tell  herself 
that  it  must  be  true.  Instinct  was  not  given  for  nothing! 

She  thought,  too,  of  Stephen  Knight.  He  would  be  glad 
to-morrow,  when  meeting  her  at  luncheon  in  his  friend's  house, 
to  hear  good  news.  Already  she  had  been  to  see  Jeanne  Sou- 
bise,  in  the  curiosity-shop,  and  had  bought  a  string  of  amber 
prayer-beads.  She  had  got  an  introduction  to  the  Governor 
from  the  American  Consul,  whom  she  had  visited  before  un- 
packing, lest  the  consular  office  should  be  closed  for  the 


168  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

day;  and  she  had  obtained  an  appointment  at  the  palace  for 
the  next  morning;  but  all  that  was  not  much  to  tell  Mr.  Knight. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  even  in  a  few  hours  she  ought  to  have 
accomplished  more.  Now,  however,  the  key  of  the  door 
which  opened  into  the  golden  silence  might  be  waiting  for  her 
hand. 

In  three  or  four  minutes  the  landlord  came  back,  and  beg- 
ged to  show  her  his  wife's  petit  salon.  This  time  as  she  passed 
the  Arab  she  bowed,  and  gave  him  a  grateful  smile.  He 
rose,  and  stood  with  his  head  slightly  bent  until  she  had  gone 
out,  remaining  in  the  dining-room  until  the  landlord  returned 
to  say  that  he  was  expected  by  Mademoiselle. 

"Remember,"  Si  Maieddine  said  in  Arabic  to  the  fat  man, 
"everybody  is  to  be  discreet,  now  and  later.  I  shall  see  that 
all  are  rewarded  for  obedience." 

"Thou  art  considerate,  even  of  the  humblest,"  replied  the 
half-breed,  using  the  word  "thou,"  as  all  Arabs  use  it.  "Thy 
presence  is  an  honour  for  my  house,  and  all  in  it  is  thine." 

Si  Maieddine  —  who  had  never  been  in  the  Hotel  de  la  Kas- 
bah  before,  and  would  not  have  considered  it  worthy  of  his 
patronage  if  he  had  not  had  an  object  in  coming  —  allowed 
himself  to  be  shown  the  door  of  Madame  Constant's  salon. 
On  the  threshold,  the  landlord  retired,  and  the  young  man 
was  hardly  surprised  to  find,  on  entering,  that  Madame  was 
not  in  the  room. 

Victoria  was  there  alone;  but  free  from  self -consciousness 
as  she  always  was,  she  received  Si  Maieddine  without  em- 
barrassment. She  saw  no  reason  to  distrust  him,  just  because 
he  was  an  Arab. 

Now,  how  glad  she  was  that  she  had  learned  Arabic!  She 
began  to  speak  diffidently  at  first,  stammering  and  halting  a 
little,  because,  though  she  could  read  the  language  well  after 
nine  years  of  constant  study,  only  once  had  she  spoken  with 
an  Arab;  — a  man  in  New  York  from  whom  she  had  had  a 
few  lessons.  Having  learned  what  she  could  of  the  accent  from 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  169 

phrase-books,  her  way  had  been  to  talk  to  herself  aloud.  But 
the  flash  of  surprised  delight  which  lit  up  the  dark  face  told 
her  that  Si  Mai'eddine  understood. 

"Wonderful!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  best  hope  was  that 
French  might  come  easily  to  thy  lips,  as  I  have  little  English." 

"I  have  a  sister  married  to  one  of  thy  countrymen,"  Victoria 
explained  at  once.  "I  do  not  know  where  she  is  living,  and  it 
is  in  finding  out,  that  I  need  help.  Even  on  the  ship  I  wished 
to  ask  thee  if  thou  hadst  knowledge  of  her  husband,  but  to 
speak  then  seemed  impossible.  It  is  a  fortunate  chance  that 
thou  shouldst  have  come  to  this  hotel,  for  I  think  thou  wilt  do 
what  thou  canst  for  me."  Then  she  went  on  and  told  him  that 
her  sister  was  the  wife  of  Captain  Cassim  ben  Halim,  who 
had  once  lived  in  Algiers. 

Si  Mai'eddine  who  had  dropped  his  eyes  as  she  spoke  of  the 
fortunate  chance  which  had  brought  him  to  the  hotel,  listened 
thoughtfully  and  with  keen  attention  to  her  story,  asking  no 
questions,  yet  showing  his  interest  so  plainly  that  Victoria 
was  encouraged  to  go  on. 

"Didst  thou  ever  hear  the  name  of  Cassim  ben  Halim?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  it,"  the  Arab  replied.  "I  have  friends 
who  knew  him.  And  I  myself  have  seen  Cassim  ben  Halim." 

"Thou  hast  seen  him!"  Victoria  cried,  clasping  her  hands 
tightly  together.  She  longed  to  press  them  over  her  heart, 
which  was  like  a  bird  beating  its  wings  against  the  bars  of  a 
cage. 

"Long  ago.     I  am  much  younger  than  he." 

"Yes,  I  see  that,"  Victoria  answered.  "But  thou  knewest 
him!  That  is  something.  And  my  sister.  Didst  thou  ever 
hear  of  her?" 

"We  of  the  Mussulman  faith  do  not  speak  of  the  wives  of 
our  friends,  even  when  our  friends  are  absent.  Yet  —  I  have 
a  relative  in  Algiers  who  might  know  something,  a  lady  who 
is  no  longer  young.  I  will  go  to  her  to-night,  and  all  that  is 


170  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

in  her  heart  she  will  tell  me.  She  has  lived  long  in  Algiers; 
and  always  when  I  come,  I  pay  her  my  respects.  But,  there 
is  a  favour  I  would  beg  in  return  for  any  help  I  can  give,  and 
will  give  gladly.  I  am  supposed  to  be  already  on  my  way 
south,  to  finish  a  diplomatic  mission,  and,  for  reasons  connected 
with  the  French  government,  I  have  had  to  make  it  appear  that 
I  started  to-day  with  my  servant.  There  is  also  a  reason, 
connected  with  Si  Cassim,  which  makes  it  important  that 
nothing  I  may  do  should  be  known  to  thy  European  friends. 
It  is  for  his  sake  especially  that  I  ask  thy  silence;  and  what- 
soever might  bring  harm  to  him  —  if  he  be  still  upon  the  earth 
—  would  also  harm  thy  sister.  Wilt  thou  give  me  thy  word, 

0  White  Rose  of  another  land,  that  thou  wilt  keep  thine 
own  counsel?" 

"I  give  thee  my  word — and  with  it  my  trust,*'  said  the 
girl. 

"Then  I  swear  that  I  will  not  fail  thee.     And  though  until 

1  have  seen  my  cousin  I  cannot  speak  positively,  yet  I  think 
what  I  can  do  will  be  more  than  any  other  could.     Wilt  thou 
hold  thyself  free  of  engagements  with  thy  European  friends, 
until  I  bring  news?" 

"I  have  promised  to  lunch  to-morrow  with  people  who  have 
been  kind,  but  rather  than  risk  a  delay  in  hearing  from  thee,  I 
will  send  word  that  I  am  prevented  from  going." 

"Thou  hast  the  right  spirit,  and  I  thank  thee  for  thy  good 
faith.  But  it  may  be  well  not  to  send  that  message.  Thy 
friends  might  think  it  strange,  and  suspect  thee  of  hiding  some- 
thing. It  is  better  to  give  no  cause  for  questionings.  Go 
then,  to  their  house,  but  say  nothing  of  having  met  me,  or  of 
any  new  hope  in  thine  heart.  Yet  let  the  hope  remain,  and  be 
to  thee  like  the  young  moon  that  riseth  over  the  desert,  to 
show  the  weary  traveller  a  rill  of  sweet  water  in  an  oasis  of  date 
palms.  And  now  I  will  bid  thee  farewell,  with  a  night  of 
dreams  in  which  thy  dearest  desires  shall  be  fulfilled  before 
thine  eyes.  I  go  to  my  cousin,  on  thy  business." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  171 

"Good  night,  Sidi.  Henceforth  my  hope  is  in  thee."  Vic- 
toria held  out  her  hand,  and  Si  Maieddine  clasped  it,  bowing 
with  the  courtesy  of  his  race.  He  was  nearer  to  her  than  he 
had  been  before,  and  she  noticed  a  perfume  which  hung  about 
his  clothing,  a  perfume  that  seemed  to  her  like  the  East,  heavy 
and  rich,  suggestive  of  mystery  and  secret  things.  It  brought 
to  her  mind  what  she  had  read  about  harems,  and  beautiful, 
languid  women,  .yet  it  suited  Si  Maieddine's  personality,  and 
somehow  did  not  make  him  seem  effeminate. 

"See,"  he  said,  in  the  poetic  language  which  became  him  as 
his  embroidered  clothes  and  the  haunting  perfume  became 
him;  "see,  how  thine  hand  lies  in  mine  like  a  pearl  that  has 
dropped  into  the  hollow  of  an  autumn  leaf.  But  praise  be  to 
Allah,  autumn  and  I  are  yet  far  apart.  I  am  in  my  summer, 
as  thou,  lady,  art  in  thine  early  spring.  And  I  vow  that  thou 
shalt  never  regret  confiding  thy  hand  to  my  hand,  thy  trust 
to  my  loyalty." 

As  he  spoke,  he  released  her  fingers  gently,  and  turning, 
went  out  of  the  room  without  another  word  or  glance. 

When  he  had  gone,  Victoria  stood  still,  looking  at  the  door 
which  Si  Maieddine  had  shut  noiselessly. 

If  she  had  not  lived  during  all  the  years  since  Saidee's  last 
letter,  in  the  hope  of  some  such  moment  as  this,  she  would 
have  felt  that  she  had  come  into  a  world  of  romance,  as  she 
listened  to  the  man  of  the  East,  speaking  the  language  of  the 
East.  But  she  had  read  too  many  Arabic  tales  and  poems 
to  find  his  speech  strange.  At  school,  her  studies  of  her  sister's 
adopted  tongue  had  been  confined  to  dry  lesson-books,  but 
when  she  had  been  free  to  choose  her  own  literature,  in  New 
York  and  London,  she  had  read  more  widely.  People  whom 
she  had  told  of  her  sister's  marriage,  and  her  own  mission,  had 
sent  her  several  rare  volumes,  —  among  others  a  valuable  old 
copy  of  the  Koran,  and  she  had  devoured  them  all,  delighting 
in  the  facility  which  grew  with  practice.  Now,  it  seemed  quite 
simple  to  be  talking  with  Sidi  Maieddine  ben  el  Hadj  Mes- 


172  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

saoud  as  she  had  talked.  It  was  no  more  romantic  or  strange 
than  all  of  life  was  romantic  and  strange.  Rather  did  she  feel 
that  at  last  she  was  face  to  face  with  reality. 

"He  does  know  something  about  Cassim,"  sTie  said,  half 
aloud,  and  searching  her  instinct,  she  still  thought  that  she 
could  trust  him  to  keep  faith  with  her.  He  was  not  playing. 
She  believed  that  there  was  sincerity  in  his  eyes. 

The  next  morning,  when  Victoria  called  at  the  Governor's 
palace,  and  heard  that  Captain  Cassim  ben  Halim  was  sup- 
posed to  have  died  in  Constantinople,  years  ago,  she  was  not 
cast  down.  "I  know  Si  Maieddine  doesn't  think  he's  dead," 
she  told  herself. 

There  was  a  note  for  her  at  the  hotel,  and  though  the  writer 
had  addressed  the  envelope  to  "Mademoiselle  Ray,"  in  an 
educated  French  handwriting,  the  letter  inside  was  written  in 
beautiful  Arab  lettering,  an  intentionally  flattering  tribute  to 
her  accomplishment. 

Si  Maieddine  informed  her  that  his  hope  had  been  justified, 
and  that  in  conversation  with  his  cousin  his  own  surmises  had 
been  confirmed.  A  certain  plan  was  suggested,  which  he 
wished  to  propose  to  Mademoiselle  Ray,  but  as  it  would  need 
some  discussion,  there  was  not  time  to  bring  it  forward  before 
the  hour  when  she  must  go  out  to  keep  her  engagement.  On 
her  return,  however,  he  begged  that  she  would  see  him,  in 
the  salon  of  Madame  Constant,  where  she  would  find  him 
waiting.  Meanwhile,  he  ventured  to  remind  her  that  for  the 
present,  secrecy  was  even  more  necessary  than  he  had  at  first 
supposed;  he  would  be  able  to  explain  why,  fully  and  satis- 
factorily, when  they  met  in  the  afternoon. 

With  this  appointment  to  look  forward  to,  it  was  natural 
that  Victoria  should  excuse  herself  to  Lady  MacGregor  earlier 
than  most  people  cared  to  leave  Djenan  el  Djouad.  The  girl 
was  more  excited  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life,  and  it  was 
only  by  the  greatest  self-control  that  she  kept  —  or  believed  that 
she  kept  —  her  manner  as  usual,  while  with  Stephen  in  the 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  173 

white  garden  of  lilies.  She  was  happy,  because  she  saw  her 
feet  already  upon  the  path  which  would  lead  through  the  golden 
silence  to  her  sister;  but  there  was  a  drawback  to  her  happi- 
ness —  a  fly  in  the  amber,  as  in  one  of  the  prayer-beads  she 
had  bought  of  Jeanne  Soubise:  her  secret  had  to  be  kept  from 
the  man  of  whom  she  thought  as  a  very  staunch  friend.  She 
felt  guilty  in  talking  with  Stephen  Knight,  and  accepting  his 
sympathy  as  if  she  were  hiding  nothing  from  him;  but  she  must 
be  true  to  her  promise,  and  Si  Mai'eddine  had  the  right  to  exact 
it,  though  of  course  Mr.  Knight  might  have  been  excepted, 
if  only  Si  Ma'ieddine  knew  how  loyal  he  was.  But  Si  Mai'ed- 
dine did  not  know,  and  she  could  not  explain.  It  was  consoling 
to  think  of  the  time  when  Stephen  might  be  told  everything; 
and  she  wished  almost  unconsciously  that  it  was  his  help  which 
she  had  to  rely  upon  now. 


xvin 

• 

TRUE  to  his  word,  Si  Mafeddine  was  waiting  in  Ma- 
dame Constant's  hideous  sitting-room,  when  Vic- 
toria returned  to  the  hotel  from  Djenan  el  Djouad. 
To-day  he  had  changed  his  grey  bournous  for 
a  white  one,  and  all  his  clothing  was  white,  embroidered  with 
silver. 

"  It  is  written,"  he  began  in  Arabic,  as  he  rose  to  welcome 
the  girl,  "that  the  messenger  who  brings  good  tidings  shall 
come  in  white.  Now  thou  art  prepared  for  happiness.  Thou 
also  hast  chosen  white;  but  even  in  black,  thy  presence  would 
bring  a  blessing,  O  Rose  of  the  West." 

The  colour  of  the  rose  stained  Victoria's  cheeks,  and  Si 
Maieddine's  eyes  were  warm  as  he  looked  at  her.  When  she 
had  given  him  her  hand,  he  kissed  his  own,  after  touching  it. 
"Be  not  alarmed,  or  think  that  I  take  a  liberty,  for  it  is  but  a 
custom  of  my  people,  in  showing  respect  to  man  or  woman," 
he  explained.  "Thou  hast  not  forgotten  thy  promise  of 
silence?" 

"No,  I  spoke  not  a  word  of  thee,  nor  of  the  hope  thou  gavest 
me  last  night,"  Victoria  answered. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said.  "Then  I  will  keep  nothing  back 
from  thee." 

They  sat  down,  Victoria  on  a  repulsive  sofa  of  scarlet  plush, 
the  Arab  on  a  chair  equally  offensive  in  design  and  colour. 

"Into  the  life  of  thy  brother-in-law,  there  came  a  great 
trouble,"  he  said.  "It  befell  after  the  days  when  he  was 
known  by  thee  and  thy  sister  in  Paris.  Do  not  ask  what  it 

174 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  17d 

was,  for  it  would  grieve  me  to  refuse  a  request  of  thine. 
Shouldst  thou  ever  hear  this  thing,  it  will  not  be  from  my  lips. 
But  this  I  will  say  —  though  I  have  friends  among  the  French, 
and  am  loyal  to  their  salt  which  I  have  eaten,  and  I  think  their 
country  great  —  France  was  cruel  to  Ben  Halim.  Were  not 
Allah  above  all,  his  life  might  have  been  broken,  but  it  was 
written  that,  after  a  time  of  humiliation,  a  chance  to  win  honour 
and  glory  such  as  he  had  never  known,  should  be  put  in  his 
way.  In  order  to  take  this  blessing  and  use  it  for  his  own 
profit  and  that  of  others,  it  was  necessary  that  Ben  Halim  — 
son  of  a  warrior  of  the  old  fighting  days,  when  nomads  of  high 
birth  were  as  kings  in  the  Sahara,  himself  lately  a  captain  of 
the  Spahis,  admired  by  women,  envied  of  men  —  it  was  neces- 
sary that  he  should  die  to  the  world." 

"Then  he  is  not  really  dead!"  cried  Victoria. 

The  face  of  Si  Mai'eddine  changed,  and  wore  that  look  which 
already  the  girl  had  remarked  in  Arab  men  she  had  passed 
among  French  crowds:  a  look  as  if  a  door  had  shut  behind  the 
bright,  open  eyes;  as  if  the  soul  were  suddenly  closed. 

"Thy  brother-in-law  was  living  when  last  I  heard  of  him," 
Maieddine  answered,  slowly. 

"And  my  sister?" 

"My  cousin  told  me  last  night  that  Leila  Saida  was  in  good 
health  some  months  ago  when  news  came  of  her  from  a  friend." 

"They  call  her  Sai'da!"  murmured  the  girl,  half  sadly;  for 
that  Saidee  should  tolerate  such  a  change  of  name,  seemed  to 
signify  some  subtle  alteration  in  her  spirit.  But  she  knew  that 
"Leila"  meant  "Madame"  in  Arab  society. 

"It  is  my  cousin  who  spoke  of  the  lady  by  that  name.  As 
for  me,  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  know  anything  of  her. 
Thou  wishest  above  all  things  to  see  thy  sister?" 

"Above  all  things.  For  more  than  nine  years  it  has  been 
the  one  great  wish  of  my  life  to  go  to  her." 

"It  is  a  long  journey.  Thou  wouldst  have  to  go  far  — very 
far." 


176  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"What  would  it  matter,  if  it  were  to  the  end  of  the  world  ?" 

"As  well  try  to  reach  the  place  where  she  is,  as  though  it 
were  beyond  where  the  world  ends,  unless  thou  wert  guided 
by  one  who  knew  the  way." 

Victoria  looked  the  Arab  full  in  the  face.  "I  have  always 
been  sure  that  God  would  lead  me  there,  one  day,  soon  or  late," 
she  said. 

"Thy  God  is  my  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his  Prophet,  as 
thy  Christ  was  also  among  his  Prophets.  It  is  as  thou  sayest; 
Allah  wills  that  thou  shouldst  make  this  journey,  for  He  has 
sent  me  into  thy  life  at  the  moment  of  thy  need.  I  can  take  thee 
to  thy  sister's  house,  if  thou  wilt  trust  thyself  to  me.  Not  alone 
— I  would  not  ask  that.  My  cousin  will  take  care  of  thee.  She 
has  her  own  reason  for  going  on  this  great  journey,  a  reason 
which  in  its  way  is  as  strong  as  thine,  for  it  concerns  her  life 
or  death.  She  is  a  noble  lady  of  my  race,  who  should  be  a 
Princess  of  Touggourt,  for  her  grandfather  was  Sultan  before 
the  French  conquered  those  warlike  men  of  the  desert,  far 
south  where  Touggourt  lies.  Leila  M'Barka  Bent  Djellab 
hears  the  voice  of  the  Angel  Azrail  in  her  ears,  yet  her  spirit 
is  strong,  and  she  believes  it  is  written  in  the  Book  that  she  shall 
reach  the  end  of  her  journey.  This  is  the  plan  she  and  I  have 
made;  that  thou  leave  the  hotel  to-day,  towards  evening,  and 
drive  (in  a  carriage  which  she  will  send)  —  to  her  house,  where 
thou  wilt  spend  the  night.  Early  in  the  morning  of  to-morrow 
she  can  be  ready  to  go,  taking  thee  with  her.  I  shall  guard  thee, 
and  we  shall  have  an  escort  which  she  and  I  will  provide.  Dost 
thou  consent  ?  Because  if  the  idea  pleases  thee,  there  are  many 
arrangements  which  must  be  made  quickly.  And  I  myself 
will  take  all  trouble  from  thy  shoulders  in  the  matter  of  leaving 
the  hotel.  I  am  known  and  well  thought  of  in  Algiers  and 
even  the  landlord  here,  as  thou  hast  seen,  has  me  in  considera- 
tion, because  my  name  is  not  strange  to  him.  Thou  needst  not 
fear  misconstruction  of  thine  actions,  by  any  one  who  is 
here." 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  177 

Si  Maieddine  added  these  arguments,  seeing  perhaps  that 
Victoria  hesitated  before  answering  his  question. 

"Thou  art  generous,  and  I  have  no  fear,"  she  said  at  last, 
with  a  faint  emphasis  which  he  could  read  as  he  chose.  "But, 
since  thou  hast  my  word  to  be  silent,  surely  thou  wilt  tell  me 
where  lies  the  end  of  the  journey  we  must  take  ?  " 

"Even  so,  I  cannot  tell  thee,"  Si  Maieddine  replied  with 
decision  which  Victoria  felt  to  be  unalterable.  "It  is  not 
for  lack  of  trust  in  thee,  O  Rose,  but  for  a  reason  which  is  not 
mine  to  explain.  All  I  can  do  is  to  pledge  my  honour,  and  the 
honour  of  a  princess,  to  conduct  thee  loyally  to  the  house  of  thy 
sister's  husband.  If  thou  goest,  it  must  be  in  the  dress  of  an 
Arab  lady,  veiled  from  eyes  which  might  spy  upon  thee;  and 
so  thou  wilt  be  safe  under  the  protection  of  my  cousin." 

"My  thanks  to  thee  and  to  her  — I  will  go,"  Victoria  said, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

She  was  sure  that  Stephen  Knight  and  his  friend  would  pre- 
vent her  from  leaving  Algiers  with  strangers,  above  all,  in  the 
company  of  Arabs,  if  they  could  know  what  was  in  her  mind. 
But  they  were  unjustly  prejudiced,  she  thought.  Her  brother- 
in-law  was  of  Arab  blood,  therefore  she  could  not  afford  to  have 
such  prejudices,  even  if  she  were  so  inclined;  and  she  must  not 
hesitate  before  such  a  chance  as  Si  Maieddine  offered. 

The  great  difficulty  she  had  experienced  in  learning  anything 
about  Ben  Halim  made  it  easy  for  her  to  believe  that  she  could 
reach  her  sister's  husband  only  through  people  of  his  own  race, 
who  knew  his  secrets.  She  was  ready  to  agree  with  Si  Maied- 
dine that  his  God  and  her  God  had  sent  him  at  the  right  moment, 
and  she  would  not  let  that  moment  pass  her  by. 

Others  might  say  that  she  was  wildly  imprudent,  that  she 
was  deliberately  walking  into  danger;  but  she  was  not  afraid. 
Always  she  trusted  to  her  star,  and  now  it  had  brought  her  to 
Algiers,  she  would  not  weaken  in  that  trust.  Common  sense, 
in  which  one  side  of  the  girl's  nature  was  not  lacking,  told  her 
that  this  Arab  might  be  deceiving  her,  that  he  might  know  no 


178  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

more  of  Ben  Halim  than  she  herself  had  told  him  yesterday; 
but  she  felt  that  he  had  spoken  the  truth,  and  feelings  were 
more  to  her  than  common  sense.  She  would  go  to  the  house 
which  Si  Maieddine  said  was  the  house  of  his  cousin,  and  if 
there  she  found  reason  to  doubt  him,  she  had  faith  that  even 
then  no  evil  would  be  allowed  to  touch  her. 

At  seven  o'clock,  Si  Maieddine  said,  I^ella  M'Barka  would 
send  a  carriage.  It  would  then  be  twilight,  and  as  most  people 
were  in  their  homes  by  that  hour,  nobody  would  be  likely  to  see 
her  leave  the  hotel.  The  shutters  of  the  carriage  would  be 
closed,  according  to  the  custom  of  Arab  ladies,  and  on  entering 
the  vehicle  Victoria  would  find  a  negress,  a  servant  of  Leila 
M'Barka  Bent  Djellab.  This  woman  would  dress  her  in  a 
gandourah  and  a  ha'ick,  while  they  were  on  their  way  to  the 
house  of  Victoria's  hostess,  and  on  stepping  out  she  would  have 
the  appearance  of  a  lady  of  Algiers.  Thus  all  trace  of  her 
would  be  lost,  as  one  Arab  carriage  was  exactly  like  another. 

Meanwhile,  there  would  be  time  to  pack,  and  write  a  letter 
which  Victoria  was  determined  to  write.  To  satisfy  Si  Maied- 
dine that  she  would  not  be  indiscreet  in  any  admission  or  al- 
lusion, she  suggested  translating  for  him  every  word  she  wrote 
into  French  or  Arabic;  but  he  refused  this  offer  with  dignity. 
She  trusted  him.  He  trusted  her  also.  But  he  himself  would 
post  the  letter  at  an  hour  too  late  for  it  to  be  delivered  while 
she  was  still  in  Algiers. 

It  was  arranged  that  she  should  carry  only  hand-bags,  as 
it  would  be  too  conspicuous  to  load  and  unload  boxes.  Her 
large  luggage  could  be  stored  at  the  hotel  until  she  returned  or 
sent,  and  as  Leila  M'Barka  intended  to  offer  her  an  outfit 
suitable  to  a  young  Arab  girl  of  noble  birth,  she  need  take  from 
the  hotel  only  her  toilet  things. 

So  it  was  that  Victoria  wrote  to  Stephen  Knight,  and  was 
ready  for  the  second  stage  of  what  seemed  the  one  great  adven- 
ture to  which  her  whole  life  had  been  leading  up. 


XIX 


VICTORIA  did  not  wait  in  her  room  to  be  told  that 
the  carriage  had  come  to  take  her  away.     It  was 
better,    Si   Maieddine   had    said,  that    only    a  few 
people  should  know  the  exact  manner  of  her  going. 
A  few  minutes  before  seven,    therefore,    she    went   down    to 
the  entrance-hall  of  the  hotel,  which  was  not  yet  lighted.      Her 
appearance  was  a  signal  for  the  Arab  porter,  who  was  waiting, 
to  run  softly   upstairs    and    return   with    her   hand  luggage. 

For  some  moments  Victoria  stood  near  the  door,  interesting 
herself  in  a  map  of  Algeria  which  hung  on  the  wall.  A  clock 
began  to  strike  as  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  desert,  and  was  on 
the  last  stroke  of  seven,  when  a  carriage  drove  up.  It  was 
drawn  by  two  handsome  brown  mules  with  leather  and  copper 
harness  which  matched  the  colour  of  their  shining  coats,  and 
was  driven  by  a  heavy,  smooth-faced  Negro  in  a  white  turban 
and  an  embroidered  cafetan  of  dark  blue.  The  carriage 
windows  were  shuttered,  and  as  the  black  coachman  pulled  up 
his  mules,  he  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  It 
was  the  hotel  porter  who  opened  the  door,  and  as  Victoria 
stepped  in  without  delay,  he  thrust  two  hand-bags  after  her, 
snapping  the  door  sharply. 

It  was  almost  dark  inside  the  carriage,  but  she  could  see  a 
white  figure,  which  in  the  dimness  had  neither  face  nor  def- 
inite shape;  and  there  was  a  perfume  as  of  aromatic  amulets 
grown  warm  on  a  human  body. 

"Pardon,  lady,  I  am  Hsina,  the  servant  of  Leila  M'Barka 
Bent  Djellab,  sent  to  wait  upon  thee,"  spoke  a  soft  and  guttural 
voice,  in  Arabic.  "Blessings  be  upon  thee!" 

179 


180  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"And  upon  thee  blessings,"  Victoria  responded  in  the  Arab 
fashion  which  she  had  learned  while  many  miles  of  land  and 
sea  lay  between  her  and  the  country  of  Islam.  "I  was  told  to 
expect  thee." 

"E'ihoua!"  cried  the  woman,  "The  little  pink  rose  has  the 
gift  of  tongues!"  As  she  grew  accustomed  to  the  twilight, 
Victoria  made  out  a  black  face,  and  white  teeth  framed  in  a 
large  smile.  A  pair  of  dark  eyes  glittered  with  delight  as  the 
Roumia  answered  in  Arabic,  although  Arabic  was  not  the 
language  of  the  negress's  own  people.  She  chattered  as  she 
helped  Victoria  into  a  plain  white  gandourah.  The  white 
hat  and  hat-pins  amused  her,  and  when  she  had  arranged  the 
voluminous  hai'ck  in  spite  of  the  joltings  of  the  carriage,  she 
examined  these  European  curiosities  with  interest.  When- 
ever she  moved,  the  warm  perfume  of  amulets  grew  stronger, 
overpowering  the  faint  mustiness  of  the  cushions  and  uphol- 
stery. 

"  Never  have  I  held  such  things  in  my  hands ! "  Hsina  gurgled. 
"Yet  often  have  I  wished  that  I  might  touch  them,  when 
driving  with  my  mistress  and  peeping  at  the  passers  by,  and 
the  strange  finery  of  foreign  women  in  the  French  bazaars." 

Victoria  listened  politely,  answering  if  necessary;  yet  her 
interest  was  concentrated  in  peering  through  the  slits  in  the 
wooden  shutter  of  the  nearest  window.  She  did  not  know 
Algiers  well  enough  to  recognize  landmarks;  but  after  driv- 
ing for  what  seemed  like  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  through 
streets  where  lights  began  to  turn  the  twilight  blue,  she  caught 
a  glint  of  the  sea.  Almost  immediately  the  trotting  mules 
stopped,  and  the  negress  Hsina,  hiding  Victoria's  hat  in  the 
folds  of  her  haick,  turned  the  handle  of  the  door. 

Victoria  looked  out  into  azure  dusk,  and  after  the  closeness 
of  the  shuttered  carriage,  thankfully  drew  in  a  breath  of  salt- 
laden  air.  One  quick  glance  showed  her  a  street  near  the  sea, 
on  a  level  not  much  above  the  gleaming  water.  There  were  high 
walls,  evidently  very  old,  hiding  Arab  mansions  once  im- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  181 

portant,  and  there  were  other  ancient  dwellings,  which  had  been 
partly  transformed  for  business  or  military  uses  by  the  French. 
The  girl's  hasty  impression  was  of  a  melancholy  neighbourhood 
which  had  been  rich  and  stately  long  ago  in  old  pirate  days, 
perhaps. 

There  was  only  time  for  a  glance  to  right  and  left  before  a 
nailed  door  opened  in  the  flatness  of  a  whitewashed  wall  which 
was  the  front  of  an  Arab  house.  No  light  shone  out,  but  the 
opening  of  the  door  proved  that  some  one  had  been  listening 
for  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels. 

"Descend,  lady.  I  will  follow  with  thy  baggage,"  said 
Hsina. 

The  girl  obeyed,  but  she  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  qualm 
as  she  had  to  turn  from  the  blue  twilight,  to  pass  behind  that 
half-open  door  into  darkness,  and  the  mystery  of  unknown 
things. 

Before  she  had  time  to  put  her  foot  to  the  ground  the  door 
was  thrown  wide  open,  and  two  stout  Negroes  dressed  ex- 
actly alike  in  flowing  white  burnouses  stepped  out  of  the 
house  to  stand  on  either  side  the  carriage  door.  Raising 
their  arms  as  high  as  their  heads  they  made  two  white  walls 
of  their  long  cloaks  between  which  Victoria  could  pass,  as  if 
enclosed  in  a  narrow  aisle.  Hsina  came  close  upon  her  heels; 
and  as  they  reached  the  threshold  of  the  house  the  white- 
robed  black  servants  dropped  their  arms,  followed  the  two 
women,  and  shut  the  nailed  door.  Then,  despite  the  dim- 
ness of  the  place,  they  bowed  their  heads  turning  aside  as  if 
humbly  to  make  it  evident  that  their  unworthy  eyes  did  not 
venture  to  rest  upon  the  veiled  form  of  their  mistress's  guest. 
As  for  Hsina,  she,  too,  was  veiled,  though  her  age  and  ugliness 
would  have  permitted  her  face  to  be  revealed  without  offence 
to  Mussulman  ideas  of  propriety.  It  was  mere  vanity  on 
her  part  to  preserve  the  mystery  as  dear  to  the  heart  of  the 
Moslem  woman  as  to  the  jealous  prejudice  of  the  man. 

A  faint  glittering  of  the  walls  told  Victoria  that  the  corridor 


182  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

she  had  entered  was  lined  with  tiles;  and  she  could  dimly 
see  seats  let  in  like  low  shelves  along  its  length,  on  either  side. 
It  was  but  a  short  passage,  with  a  turn  into  a  second  still  short- 
er. At  the  end  of  this  hung  a  dark  curtain,  which  Hsina 
lifted  for  Victoria  to  pass  on,  round  another  turn  into  a  wider 
hall,  lit  by  an  Arab  lamp  with  glass  panes  framed  in  delicately 
carved  copper.  The  chain  which  suspended  it  from  cedar 
beams  swayed  slightly,  causing  the  light  to  move  from  colour  to 
colour  of  the  old  tiles,  and  to  strike  out  gleams  from  the  marble 
floor  and  ivory-like  pillars  set  into  the  walls.  The  end  of  this 
corridor  also  was  masked  by  a  curtain  of  wool,  dyed  and 
woven  by  the  hands  of  nomad  tribes,  tent-dwellers  in  the 
desert;  and  when  Hsina  had  lifted  it,  Victoria  saw  a  small 
square  court  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre. 

It  was  not  on  a  grand  scale,  like  those  in  the  palace  owned  by 
Nevill  Caird;  but  the  fountain  was  graceful  and  charming, 
ornamented  with  the  carved,  bursting  pomegranates  beloved 
by  the  Moors  of  Granada,  and  the  marble  columns  which 
supported  a  projecting  balcony  were  wreathed  with  red  roses 
and  honeysuckle. 

On  each  of  the  four  sides  of  the  quadrangle,  paved  with 
black  and  white  marble,  there  were  little  windows,  and  large 
glass  doors  draped  on  the  inside  with  curtains  thin  enough 
to  show  faint  pink  and  golden  lights. 

"O  my  mistress,  Leila  M'Barka,  I  have  brought  thy  guest!" 
cried  Hsina,  in  a  loud,  sing-song  voice,  as  if  she  were  chanting; 
whereupon  one  of  the  glass  doors  opened,  letting  out  a  rosy 
radiance,  and  a  Bedouin  woman-servant  dressed  in  a  striped 
foutah  appeared  on  the  threshold.  She  was  old,  with  crinkled 
grey  hair  under  a  scarlet  handkerchief,  and  a  blue  cross  was 
tattooed  between  her  eyes. 

"In  the  name  of  Leila  M'Barka  be  thou  welcome,"  she 
said.  "My  mistress  has  been  suffering  all  day,  and  fears  to 
rise,  lest  her  strength  fail  for  to-morrow's  journey,  or  she  would 
come  forth  to  meet  thee,  O  Flower  of  the  West!  As  it  is, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  183 

she  begs  that  thou  wilt  come  to  her.  But  first  suffer  me  to 
remove  thy  haick,  that  the  eyes  of  Leila  M'Barka  may  be 
refreshed  by  thy  beauty." 

She  would  have  unfastened  the  long  drapery,  but  Hsina  put 
down  Victoria's  luggage,  and  pushing  away  the  two  brown 
hands,  tattooed  with  blue  mittens,  she  herself  unfastened 
the  veil.  "No,  this  is  my  lady,  and  my  work,  Fafann,"  she 
objected. 

"But  it  is  my  duty  to  take  her  in,"  replied  the  Bedouin 
woman,  jealously.  "It  is  the  wish  of  Leila  M'Barka.  Go 
thou  and  make  ready  the  room  of  the  guest." 

Hsina  flounced  away  across  the  court,  and  Fafann  held 
open  both  the  door  and  the  curtains.  Victoria  obeyed  her 
gesture  and  went  into  the  room  beyond.  It  was  long  and 
narrow,  with  a  ceiling  of  carved  wood  painted  in  colours  which 
had  once  been  violent,  but  were  now  faded.  The  walls  were 
partly  covered  with  hangings  like  the  curtains  that  shaded  the 
glass  door;  but,  on  one  side,  between  gold-embroidered  crim- 
son draperies,  were  windows,  and  in  the  white  stucco  above, 
showed  lace-like  openings,  patterned  to  represent  peacocks, 
the  tails  jewelled  with  glass  of  different  colours.  On  the  op- 
posite side  opened  doors  of  dark  wood  inlaid  with  mother- 
o'-pearl;  and  these  stood  ajar,  revealing  rows  of  shelves  lit- 
tered with  little  gilded  bottles,  or  piled  with  beautiful  brocades 
that  were  shot  with  gold  in  the  pink  light  of  an  Arab  lamp. 

There  was  little  furniture;  only  a  few  low,  round  tables, 
or  maidas,  completely  overlaid  with  the  snow  of  mother-o'- 
pearl;  two  or  three  tabourets  of  the  same  material,  and,  at  one 
end  of  the  room  a  low  divan,  where  something  white  and 
orange-yellow  and  purple  lay  half  buried  in  cushions. 

Though  the  light  was  dim,  Victoria  could  see  as  she  went 
nearer  a  thin  face  the  colour  of  pale  amber,  and  a  pair  of  im- 
mense dark  eyes  that  glittered  in  deep  hollows.  A  thin  woman 
of  more  than  middle  age,  with  black  hair,  silver-streaked,  moved 
slightly  and  held  out  an  emaciated  hand  heavy  with  rings. 


184  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Her  head  was  tied  round  with  a  silk  handkerchief  or  takrita  of 
pansy  purple;  she  wore  seroual,  full  trousers  of  soft  white  silk, 
and  under  a  gold-threaded  orange-coloured  jacket  or  rlila, 
a  blouse  of  lilac  gauze,  covered  with  sequins  and  open  at  the 
neck.  On  the  bony  arm  which  she  held  out  to  Victoria  hung 
many  bracelets,  golden  serpents  of  Djebbel  Amour,  and 
pearls  braided  with  gold  wire  and  coral  beads.  Her  great 
eyes,  ringed  with  khol,  had  a  tortured  look,  and  there  were 
hollows  under  the  high  cheek-bones.  If  she  had  ever  been 
handsome,  all  beauty  of  flesh  had  now  been  drained  away 
by  suffering;  yet  stricken  as  she  was  there  remained  an 
almost  indefinable  distinction,  an  air  of  supreme  pride  befitting 
a  princess  of  the  Sahara. 

Her  scorching  fingers  pressed  Victoria's  hand,  as  she  gazed 
up  at  the  girl's  face  with  hungry  curiosity  and  interest  such 
as  the  Spirit  of  Death  might  feel  in  looking  at  the  Spirit  of 
Life. 

"Thou  art  fresh  and  fair,  O  daughter,  as  a  lily  bud  open- 
ing in  the  spray  of  a  fountain,  and  radiant  as  sunrise  shining  on 
a  desert  lake,"  she  said  in  a  weary  voice,  slightly  hoarse,  yet 
with  some  flutelike  notes.  "My  cousin  spoke  but  truth  of  thee. 
Thou  art  worthy  of  a  reward  at  the  end  of  that  long  journey 
we  shall  take  together,  thou,  and  he,  and  I.  I  have  never 
seen  thy  sister  whom  thou  seekest,  but  I  have  friends,  who 
knew  her  in  other  days.  For  her  sake  and  thine  own,  kiss 
me  on  my  cheeks,  for  with  women  of  my  race,  it  is  the  seal 
of  friendship," 

Victoria  bent  and  touched  the  faded  face  under  each  of  the 
great  burning  eyes.  The  perfume  of  ambre,  loved  in  the 
East,  came  up  to  her  nostrils,  and  the  invalid's  breath  was 
a  flame. 

"Art  thou  strong  enough  for  a  journey,  Leila  M'Barka?" 
the  girl  asked. 

"Not  in  my  own  strength,  but  in  that  which  Allah  will  give 
me,  I  shall  be  strong,"  the  sick  woman  answered  with  controlled 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  185 

passion.  "Ever  since  I  knew  that  I  could  not  hope  to  reach 
Mecca,  and  kiss  the  sacred  black  stone,  or  pray  in  the  Mosque 
of  the  holy  Leila  Fatima,  I  have  wished  to  visit  a  certain  great 
marabout  in  the  south.  The  pity  of  Allah  for  a  daughter  who 
is  weak  will  permit  the  blessing  of  this  marabout,  who  has 
inherited  the  inestimable  gift  of  Baraka,  to  be  the  same  to  me, 
body  and  soul,  as  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  which  is  beyond  the 
power  of  my  flesh.  Another  must  say  for  me  the  Fatakah 
there.  I  believe  that  I  shall  be  healed,  and  have  vowed  to 
give  a  great  feast  if  I  return  to  Algiers,  in  celebration  of  the 
miracle.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  cousin's  wish  that  I  should 
go  with  thee,  I  should  not  have  felt  that  the  hour  had  come 
when  I  might  face  the  ordeal  of  such  a  journey  to  the  far 
south.  But  the  prayer  of  Si  Mai'eddine,  who,  after  his  father, 
is  the  last  man  left  of  his  line,  has  kindled  in  my  veins  a  fire 
which  I  thought  had  burnt  out  forever.  Have  no  fear,  daugh- 
ter. I  shall  be  ready  to  start  at  dawn  to-morrow." 

"Does  the  marabout  who  has  the  gift  of  Baraka  live  near 
the  place  where  I  must  go  to  find  my  sister?"  Victoria  in- 
quired, rather  timidly;  for  she  did  not  know  how  far  she  might 
venture  to  question  Si  Maieddine's  cousin. 

Leila  M'Barka  looked  at  her  suddenly  and  strangely.  Then 
her  face  settled  into  a  sphinx-like  expression,  as  if  she  had  been 
turned  to  stone.  "I  shall  be  thy  companion  to  the  end  of 
thy  journey,"  she  answered  in  a  dull,  tired  tone.  "Wilt  thou 
visit  thy  room  now,  or  wilt  thou  remain  with  me  until  Fafann 
and  Hsina  bring  thy  evening  meal  ?  I  hope  that  thou  wilt  sup 
here  by  my  side:  yet  if  it  pains  thee  to  take  food  near  one  in 
ill  health,  who  does  not  eat,  speak,  and  thou  shalt  be  served  in 
another  place." 

Victoria  hastened  to  protest  that  she  would  prefer  to  eat 
in  the  company  of  her  hostess,  which  seemed  to  please  Leila 
M'Barka.  She  began  to  ask  the  girl  questions  about  herself, 
complimenting  her  upon  her  knowledge  of  Arabic;  and  Vic- 
toria answered,  though  only  half  her  brain  seemed  to  be  listen- 


186  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ing.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  trusted  Si  Mafeddine,  and 
she  felt  safe  in  the  house  of  his  cousin;  but  now  that  she  was 
removed  from  European  influences,  she  could  not  see  why 
the  mystery  concerning  Ben  Halim  and  the  journey  which 
would  lead  to  his  house,  should  be  kept  up.  She  had  read 
enough  books  about  Arab  customs  and  superstitions  to  know 
that  there  are  few  saints  believed  to  possess  the  gift  of  Baraka, 
the  power  given  by  Allah  for  the  curing  of  all  fleshly  ills.  Only 
the  very  greatest  of  the  marabouts  are  supposed  to  have 
this  power,  receiving  it  direct  from  Allah,  or  inheriting  it  from 
a  pious  saint  —  father  or  more  distant  relative  —  who  handed 
down  the  marabou tship.  Therefore,  if  she  had  time  and 
inclination,  she  could  probably  learn  from  any  devout  Mus- 
sulman the  abiding  places  of  all  such  famous  saints  as  re- 
mained upon  the  earth.  In  that  way,  by  setting  her  wits 
to  work,  she  might  guess  the  secret  if  Si  Maleddine  still  tried 
to  make  a  mystery  of  their  destination.  But,  somehow,  she 
felt  that  it  would  not  be  fair  to  seek  information  which  he  did  not 
want  her  to  have.  She  must  go  on  trusting  him,  and  by  and 
by  he  would  tell  her  all  she  wanted  to  know. 

Leila  M'Barka  had  invited  her  guest  to  sit  on  cushions 
beside  the  divan  where  she  lay,  and  the  interest  in  her  fever- 
ish eyes,  which  seldom  left  Victoria's  face,  was  so  intense  as 
to  embarrass  the  girl. 

"Thou  hast  wondrous  hair,"  she  said,  "and  when  it  is  un- 
bound it  must  be  a  fountain  of  living  gold.  Is  it  some  kind 
of  henna  grown  in  thy  country,  which  dyes  it  that  beautiful 
colour  ?  " 

Victoria  told  her  that  Nature  alone  was  the  dyer. 

"Thou  art  not  yet  affianced;  that  is  well,"  murmured  the 
invalid.  "Our  young  girls  have  their  hair  tinted  with  henna 
when  they  are  betrothed,  that  they  may  be  more  fair  in  the 
eyes  of  their  husbands.  But  thou  couldst  scarcely  be  lovelier 
than  thou  art;  for  thy  skin  is  of  pearl,  though  there  is  no  paint 
upon  it,  and  thy  lips  are  pink  as  rose  petals.  Yet  a  little 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  187 

messouak  to  make  them  scarlet,  like  coral,  and  kohl  to  give 
thine  eyes  lustre  would  add  to  thy  brilliancy.  Also  the  hand 
of  woman  reddened  with  henna  is  as  a  brazier  of  rosy  flame 
to  kindle  the  heart  of  a  lover.  When  thou  seest  thy  sister, 
thou  wilt  surely  find  that  she  has  made  herself  mistress  of 
these  arts,  and  many  more." 

"Canst  thou  tell  me  nothing  of  her,  Leila  M'Barka ?" 

"Nothing,  save  that  I  have  a  friend  who  has  said  she  was 
fair.  And  it  is  not  many  moons  since  I  heard  that  she  was 
blessed  with  health." 

"Is  she  happy?"  Victoria  was  tempted  to  persist. 

"She  should  be  happy.  She  is  a  fortunate  woman.  Would 
I  could  tell  thee  more,  but  I  live  the  life  of  a  mole  in  these 
days,  and  have  little  knowledge.  Thou  wilt  see  her  with  thine 
own  eyes  before  long,  I  have  no  doubt.  And  now  comes 
food  which  my  women  have  prepared  for  thee.  In  my  house, 
all  are  people  of  the  desert,  and  we  keep  the  desert  customs, 
since  my  husband  has  been  gathered  to  his  fathers  —  my  hus- 
band, to  whose  house  in  Algiers  I  came  as  a  bride  from  the 
Sahara.  Such  a  meal  as  thou  wilt  eat  to-night,  mayst  thou  eat 
often  with  a  blessing,  in  the  country  of  the  sun." 

Fafann,  who  had  softly  left  the  room  when  the  guest  had 
been  introduced,  now  came  back,  with  great  tinkling  of  khal- 
khal,  and  mnaguach,  the  huge  earrings  which  hung  so  low 
as  to  strike  the  silver  beads  twisted  round  her  throat.  She 
was  smiling,  and  pleasantly  excited  at  the  presence  of  a  visitor 
whose  arrival  broke  the  tiresome  monotony  of  an  invalid's 
household.  When  she  had  set  one  of  the  pearly  maidas  in 
front  of  Victoria's  seat  of  cushions,  she  held  back  the  curtains 
for  Hsina  to  enter,  carrying  a  copper  tray.  This  the  negress 
placed  on  the  maida,  and  uncovered  a  china  bowl  balanced 
in  a  silver  stand,  like  a  giant  coffee  cup  of  Moorish  fashion. 
It  contained  hot  soup,  called  cheurba,  in  which  Hsina  had  put 
so  much  fell-fell,  the  red  pepper  loved  by  Arabs,  that  Victoria's 
lips  were  burned.  But  it  was  good,  and  she  would  not  wince 


188  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

though  the  tears  stung  her  eyes  as  she  drank,  for  Leila 
M'Barka  and  the  two  servants  were  watching  her  eagerly. 

Afterwards  came  a  kouskous  of  chicken  and  farina,  which  she 
ate  with  a  large  spoon  whose  bowl  was  of  tortoiseshell,  the 
handle  of  ivory  tipped  with  coral.  Then,  when  the  girl  hoped 
there  might  be  nothing  more,  appeared  tadjine,  a  ragout  of 
mutton  with  artichokes  and  peas,  followed  by  a  rich  preserve  of 
melon,  and  many  elaborate  cakes  iced  with  pink  and  purple 
sugar,  and  powdered  with  little  gold  sequins  that  had  to  be 
picked  off  as  the  cake  was  eaten.  At  last,  there  was  thick, 
sweet  coffee,  in  a  cup  like  a  little  egg-shell  supported  in  filigree 
gold  (for  no  Mussulman  may  touch  lip  to  metal),  and  at  the 
end  Fafann  poured  rosewater  over  Victoria's  fingers,  wiping 
them  on  a  napkin  of  fine  damask. 

"Now  thou  hast  eaten  and  drunk,  thou  must  allow  thy- 
self to  be  dressed  by  my  women  in  the  garments  of  an  Arab 
maiden  of  high  birth,  which  I  have  ready  for  thee,"  said  Leila 
M'Barka,  brightening  with  the  eagerness  of  a  little  child  at 
the  prospect  of  dressing  a  beautiful  new  doll.  "Fafann  shall 
bring  everything  here,  and  thou  shalt  be  told  how  to  robe  thy- 
self afterwards.  I  wish  to  see  that  all  is  right,  for  to-morrow 
morning  thou  must  arise  while  it  is  still  dark,  that  we  may 
start  with  the  first  dawn." 

Fafann  and  Hsina  had  forgotten  their  jealousies  in  the 
delight  of  the  new  play.  They  moved  about,  laughing  and 
chattering,  and  were  not  chidden  for  the  noise  they  made. 
From  shelves  behind  the  inlaid  doors  in  the  wall,  they  took 
down  exquisite  boxes  of  mother-o'-pearl  and  red  tortoiseshell. 
Also  there  were  small  bundles  wrapped  in  gold  brocade,  and 
tied  round  with  bright  green  cord.  These  were  all  laid  on  a 
dim-coloured  Kairouan  rug,  at  the  side  of  the  divan,  and  the 
two  women  squatted  on  the  floor  to  open  them,  while  their 
mistress  leaned  on  her  thin  elbow  among  cushions,  and  skins 
of  golden  jackal  from  the  Sahara. 

From  one  box  came  wide  trousers  of  white  silk,  like  Leila 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  189 

M'Barka's;  from  another,  vests  of  satin  and  velvet  of  pale 
shades  embroidered  with  gold  or  silver.  A  fat  parcel  con- 
tained delicately  tinted  stockings  and  high-heeled  slippers 
of  different  sizes.  A  second  bundle  contained  blouses  of  thin 
silk  and  gauze,  and  in  a  pearl  box  were  pretty  little  chechias 
of  sequined  velvet,  caps  so  small  as  to  fit  the  head  closely; 
and  besides  these,  there  were  sashes  and  gandourahs,  and 
haicks  white  and  fleecy,  woven  from  the  softest  wool. 

When  everything  was  well  displayed,  the  Bedouin  and  the 
negress  sprang  up,  lithe  as  leopards,  and  to  Victoria's  surprise 
began  to  undress  her. 

"Please  let  me  do  it  myself!"  she  protested,  but  they  did 
not  listen  or  understand,  chattering  her  into  silence,  as  if 
they  had  been  lively  though  elderly  monkeys.  Giggling 
over  the  hooks  and  buttons  which  were  comical  to  them,  they 
turned  and  twisted  her  between  their  hands,  fumbling  at 
neck  and  waist  with  black  fingers,  and  brown  fingers  tattooed 
blue,  until  she,  too,  began  to  laugh.  She  laughed  herself  into 
helplessness,  and  encouraged  by  her  wild  merriment,  and 
Leila  M'Barka's  smiles  and  exclamations  punctuated  with 
fits  of  coughing,  they  set  to  work  at  pulling  out  hairpins,  and 
the  tortoise-shell  combs  that  kept  the  Roumia's  red  gold  waves 
in  place.  At  last  down  tumbled  the  thick  curly  locks  which 
Stephen  Knight  had  thought  so  beautiful  when  they  flowed 
round  her  shoulders  in  the  Dance  of  the  Shadow. 

The  invalid  made  her  kneel,  just  as  she  was  in  her  petticoat, 
in  order  to  pass  long,  ringed  fingers  through  the  soft  masses, 
and  lift  them  up  for  the  pleasure  of  letting  them  fall.  When 
the  golden  veil,  as  Leila  M'Barka  called  it,  had  been  praised 
and  admired  over  and  over  again,  the  order  was  given  to  braid 
it  in  two  long  plaits,  leaving  the  ends  to  curl  as  they  would. 
Then,  the  game  of  dressing  the  doll  could  begin,  but  first  the 
embroidered  petticoat  of  batiste  with  blue  ribbons  at  the  top 
of  its  flounce,  and  the  simple  pretty  little  stays  had  to  be  ex- 
amined with  keen  interest.  Nothing  like  these  things  had  ever 


190  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

been  seen  by  mistress  or  servants,  except  in  occasional  peeps 
through  shuttered  carriage  windows  when  passing  French  shops : 
for  Leila  M'Barka  Bent  Djellab,  daughter  of  Princes  of 
Touggourt,  was  what  young  Arabs  call  "vieux  turban."  She 
was  old-fashioned  in  her  ideas,  would  have  no  European 
furniture  or  decorations,  and  until  to-night  had  never  consented 
to  know  a  Roumia,  much  less  receive  one  into  her  house.  She 
had  felt  that  she  was  making  a  great  concession  in  granting 
her  cousin's  request,  but  she  had  forgotten  her  sense  of  con- 
descension in  entertaining  an  unveiled  girl,  a  Christian,  now 
that  she  saw  what  the  girl  was  like.  She  was  too  old  and 
lonely  to  be  jealous  of  Victoria's  beauty;  and  as  Si  Maieddine, 
her  favourite  cousin,  deigned  to  admire  this  young  foreigner, 
Leila  M'Barka  took  an  unselfish  pride  in  each  of  the  American 
girl's  charms. 

When  she  was  dressed  to  all  outward  appearances  pre- 
cisely like  the  daughter  of  a  high-born  Arab  family,  Fafann 
brought  a  mirror  framed  in  mother-o'-pearl,  and  Victoria 
could  not  help  admiring  herself  a  little.  She  wished  half  un- 
consciously that  Stephen  Knight  could  see  her,  with  hair 
looped  in  two  great  shining  braids  on  either  side  her  face, 
under  the  sequined  Chechia  of  sapphire  velvet;  and  then  she 
was  ashamed  of  her  own  vanity. 

Having  been  dressed,  she  was  obliged  to  prove,  before  the 
three  women  would  be  satisfied,  that  she  understood  how  each 
garment  ought  to  be  arranged ;  and  later  she  had  to  try  on  a 
new  gandourah,  with  a  white  burnouse  such  as  women  wear, 
and  the  haick  she  had  worn  in  coming  to  the  house.  Hsina 
would  help  her  in  the  morning,  she  was  told,  but  it  would  be 
better  that  she  should  know  how  to  do  things  properly  for 
herself,  since  only  Fafann  would  be  with  them  on  the  journey, 
and  she  might  sometimes  be  busy  with  Leila  M'Barka  when 
Victoria  was  dressing. 

The  excitement  of  adorning  the  beautiful  doll  had  tired  the 
invalid.  The  dark  lines  under  her  eyes  were  very  blue,  and 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  191 

the  flesh  of  her  face  seemed  to  hang  loose,  making  her  look 
piteously  haggard.  She  offered  but  feeble  objections  when  her 
guest  proposed  to  say  good  night,  and  after  a  few  more  com- 
pliments and  blessings,  Victoria  was  able  to  slip  away,  escorted 
by  the  negress. 

The  room  where  she  was  to  sleep  was  on  another  side  of 
the  court  from  that  of  Leila  M'Barka,  but  Hsina  took  great 
pains  to  assure  her  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear.  No  one 
could  come  into  this  court;  and  she  —  Hsina  —  slept  near  by 
with  Fafann.  To  clap  the  hands  once  would  be  to  bring  one 
of  them  instantly.  And  Hsina  would  wake  her  before  dawn. 

Victoria's  long,  narrow  sleeping  room  had  the  bed  across  one 
end,  in  Arab  fashion.  It  was  placed  in  an  alcove  and  built  into 
the  wall,  with  pillars  in  front,  of  gilded  wood,  and  yellow 
brocaded  curtains  of  a  curious,  Oriental  design.  At  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  room  stood  a  large  cupboard,  like  a  buffet, 
beautifully  inlaid  with  mother-o'-pearl,  and  along  the  length 
of  the  room  ran  shelves  neatly  piled  with  bright-coloured  bed- 
clothing,  or  ferrachiyas.  Above  these  shelves  texts  from  the 
Koran  were  exquisitely  illuminated  in  red,  blue  and  gold,  like  a 
frieze;  and  there  were  tinselled  pictures  of  relatives  of  the 
Prophet,  and  of  Mohammed's  Angel-horse,  Borak.  The  floor 
was  covered  with  soft,  dark-coloured  rugs;  and  on  a  square  of 
white  linen  was  a  huge  copper  basin  full  of  water,  with  folded 
towels  laid  beside  it. 

The  bed  was  not  uncomfortable,  but  Victoria  could  not  sleep. 
She  did  not  even  wish  to  sleep.  It  was  too  wonderful  to  think 
that  to-morrow  she  would  be  on  her  way  to  Saidee. 


XX 


BEFORE    morning    light,   Si    Maieddine   was    in    his 
cousin's    house.      Hsina    had    not    yet    called    Vic- 
toria,   but    Leila    M'Barka    was    up    and    dressed, 
ready  to  receive  Maieddine   in  the   room   where  she 
had  entertained  the  Roumia  girl  last  night.     Being  a  near 
relation,   Si   Maieddine  was   allowed   to  see   Leila    M'Barka 
unveiled;   and  even  in  the  pink  and  gold  light  of  the  hanging 
lamps,  she  was  ghastly  under  her  paint.     The  young  man  was 
struck  with  her  martyred  look,  and  pitied  her;  but  stronger  than 
his  pity  was  the  fear  that  she  might  fail  him  —  if  not  to-day, 
before  the  journey's  end.     She  would  have  to  undergo  a  strain 
terrible  for  an  invalid,  and  he  could  spare  her  much  of  this  if 
he  chose ;  but  he  would  not  choose,  though  he  was  fond  of  his 
cousin,  and  grateful  in  a  way.     To  spare  her  would  mean  the 
risk  of  failure  for  him. 

Each  called  down  salutations  and  peace  upon  the  head  of 
the  other,  and  Leila  M'Barka  asked  Maieddine  if  he  would 
drink  coffee.  He  thanked  her,  but  had  already  taken  coffee. 
And  she  ?  All  her  strength  would  be  needed.  She  must  not 
neglect  to  sustain  herself  now  that  everything  depended  upon 
her  health. 

"My  health!"  she  echoed,  with  a  sigh,  and  a  gesture  of  some- 
thing like  despair.  "O  my  cousin,  if  thou  knewest  how  I  suf- 
fer, how  I  dread  what  lies  before  me,  thou  would  st  in  mercy 
change  thy  plans  even  now.  Thou  wouldst  go  the  short 
way  to  the  end  of  our  journey.  Think  of  the  difference  to  me ! 
A  week  or  eight  days  of  travel  at  most,  instead  of  three  weeks, 
or  more  if  I  falter  by  the  way,  and  thou  art  forced  to  wait." 

192 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  193 

Maieddine's  face  hardened  under  her  imploring  eyes,  but  he 
answered  with  gentleness,  "Thou  knowest,  my  kind  friend 
and  cousin,  that  I  would  give  my  blood  to  save  thee  suffering, 
but  it  is  more  than  my  blood  that  thou  askest  now.  It  is  my 
heart,  for  my  heart  is  in  this  journey  and  what  I  hope  from  it, 
as  I  told  thee  yesterday.  We  discussed  it  all,  thou  and  I, 
between  us.  Thou  hast  loved,  and  I  made  thee  understand 
something  of  what  I  feel  for  this  girl,  whose  beauty,  as  thou 
hast  seen,  is  that  of  the  houris  in  Paradise.  Never  have  I 
found  her  like;  and  it  may  be  I  care  more  because  of  the 
obstacles  which  stand  high  as  a  wall  between  me  and  her. 
Because  of  the  man  who  is  her  sister's  husband,  I  must  not 
fail  in  respect,  or  even  seem  to  fail.  I  cannot  take  her  and  ride 
away,  as  I  might  with  a  maiden  humbly  placed,  trusting  to 
make  her  happy  after  she  was  mine.  My  winning  must  be 
done  first,  as  is  the  way  of  the  Roumis,  and  she  will  be  hard 
to  win.  Already,  she  feels  that  one  of  my  race  has  stolen  and 
hidden  her  sister;  for  this,  in  her  heart,  she  fears  and  half  dis- 
trusts all  Arabs.  A  week  would  give  me  no  time  to  capture 
her  love,  and  when  the  journey  is  over  it  will  be  too  late.  Then, 
at  best,  I  can  see  little  of  her,  even  if  she  be  allowed  to  keep 
something  of  her  European  freedom.  It  is  from  this  journey 
together  —  the  long,  long  journey  —  that  I  hope  everything. 
No  pains  shall  be  spared.  No  luxury  shall  she  lack  even  on  the 
hardest  stretches  of  the  way.  She  shall  know  that  she  owes 
all  to  my  thought  and  care.  In  three  weeks  I  can  pull  down 
that  high  wall  between  us.  She  will  have  learned  to 
depend  on  me,  to  need  me,  to  long  for  me  when  I  am  out 
of  her  sight,  as  the  gazelle  longs  for  a  fountain  of  sweet 
water." 

"Poet  and  dreamer  thou  hast  become,  Maieddine,"  said 
Leila  M'Barka  with  a  tired  smile. 

"I  have  become  a  lover.  That  means  both  and  more. 
My  heart  is  set  on  success  with  this  girl:  and  yesterday  thou 
didst  promise  to  help.  In  return,  I  offered  thee  a  present  that 


194  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

is  like  the  gift  of  new  life  to  a  woman,  the  amulet  my  father's 
dead  brother  rubbed  on  the  sacred  Black  Stone  at  Mecca, 
touched  by  the  foot  of  the  Prophet.  I  assured  thee  that  at  the 
end  of  our  journey  I  would  persuade  the  marabout  to  make 
the  amulet  as  potent  for  good  to  thee  as  the  Black  Stone  itself, 
against  which  thou  canst  never  cool  the  fever  in  thy  forehead. 
Then,  when  he  has  used  his  power,  and  thou  hast  pressed  the 
amulet  on  thy  brows,  thou  mayst  read  the  destiny  of  men  and 
women  written  between  their  eyes,  as  a  sand-diviner  reads  fate 
in  the  sands.  Thou  wilt  become  in  thine  own  right  a  mara- 
bouta,  and  be  sure  of  Heaven  when  thou  diest.  This  blessing 
the  marabout  will  give,  not  for  thy  sake,  but  for  mine,  because 
I  will  do  for  him  certain  things  which  he  has  long  desired,  and 
so  far  I  have  never  consented  to  undertake.  Thou  wilt  gain 
greatly  through  keeping  thy  word  to  me.  Believing  in  thy 
courage  and  good  faith,  I  have  made  all  arrangements  for  the 
journey.  Not  once  last  night  did  I  close  my  eyes  in  sleep. 
There  was  not  a  moment  to  rest,  for  I  had  many  telegrams 
to  send,  and  letters  to  write,  asking  my  friends  along  the  dif- 
ferent stages  of  the  way,  after  we  have  left  the  train,  to  lend  me 
relays  of  mules  or  horses.  I  have  had  to  collect  supplies,  to 
think  of  and  plan  out  details  for  which  most  men  would  have 
needed  a  week's  preparation,  yet  I  have  completed  all  in 
twelve  hours.  I  believe  nothing  has  been  forgotten,  nothing 
neglected.  And  can  it  be  that  my  prop  will  fail  me  at  the  last 
moment?" 

"No,  I  will  not  fail  thee,  unless  soul  and  body  part,"  Leila 
M'Barka  answered.  "I  but  hoped  that  thou  mightest  feel 
differently,  that  in  pity  —  but  I  see  I  was  wrong  to  ask.  I 
will  pray  that  the  amulet,  and  the  hope  of  the  divine  benedic- 
tion of  the  baraka  may  support  me  to  the  end." 

"I,  too,  will  pray,  dear  cousin.  Be  brave,  and  remember, 
the  journey  is  to  be  taken  in  easy  stages,  All  the  comforts  I 
am  preparing  are  for  thee,  as  well  as  for  this  white  rose  whose 
beauty  has  stolen  the  heart  out  of  my  breast." 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  195 

"It  is  true.  Thou  art  kind,  or  I  would  not  love  thee  even 
as  I  should  have  loved  a  son,  had  one  been  given  me,"  said  the 
haggard  woman,  meekly.  "Does  she  know  that  there  will 
be  three  weeks  or  more  of  travelling?" 

"No.  I  told  her  vaguely  that  she  could  hardly  hope  to  see 
her  sister  in  less  than  a  fortnight.  I  feared  that,  at  first  hear- 
ing, the  thought  of  such  distances,  separating  her  from  what 
she  has  known  of  life,  might  cause  her  to  hesitate.  But  she  will 
be  willing  to  sacrifice  herself  and  travel  less  rapidly  than  she 
hoped,  when  she  sees  that  thou  art  weak  and  ailing.  She  has 
a  heart  with  room  in  it  for  the  welfare  of  others." 

"  Most  women  have.  It  is  expected  of  us."  Leila  M'Barka 
sighed  again,  faintly.  "But  she  is  all  that  thou  describedst 
to  me,  of  beauty  and  sweetness.  When  she  has  been  converted 
to  the  True  Faith,  as  thy  wife,  nothing  will  be  lacking  to  make 
her  perfect." 

Hsina  appeared  at  the  door.  "Thy  guest,  O  Leila  M'Barka, 
is  having  her  coffee,  and  is  eating  bread  with  it,"  she  announced. 
"In  a  few  minutes  she  will  be  ready.  Shall  I  fetch  her  down 
while  the  gracious  lord  honours  the  house  with  his  presence, 
or " 

"My  guest  is  a  Roumia,  and  it  is  not  forbidden  that  she 
show  her  face  to  men,"  answered  Hsina's  mistress.  "She  will 
travel  veiled,  because,  for  reasons  that  do  not  concern  thee,  it 
is  wiser.  But  she  is  free  to  appear  before  the  Lord  Maieddine. 
Bring  her;  and  remember  this,  when  I  am  gone.  If  to  a 
living  soul  outside  this  house  thou  speakest  of  the  Roumia 
maiden,  or  even  of  my  journey,  worse  things  will  happen  to 
thee  than  tearing  thy  tongue  out  by  the  roots." 

"So  thou  saidst  last  night  to  me,  and  to  all  the  others,"  the 
negress  answered,  like  a  sulky  child.  "As  we  are  faithful, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  say  it  again."  Without  waiting  to  be 
scolded  for  her  impudence,  as  she  knew  she  deserved,  she 
went  out,  to  return  five  minutes  later  with  Victoria. 

Maieddine's  eyes  lighted  when  he  saw  the  girl  in  Arab  dress. 


196  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  far  more  beautiful,  because, 
like  all  Arabs,  he  detested  the  severe  cut  of  a  European  woman's 
gowns.  He  loved  bright  colours  and  voluptuous  outlines. 

It  was  only  beginning  to  be  daylight  when  they  left  the  house 
and  went  out  to  the  carriage  in  which  Victoria  had  been  driven 
the  night  before.  She  and  Leila  M'Barka  were  both  veiled, 
though  there  was  no  eye  to  see  them.  Hsina  and  Fafann 
took  out  several  bundles,  wrapped  in  dark  red  woollen  haicks, 
and  the  Negro  servants  carried  two  curious  trunks  of  wood 
painted  bright  green,  with  coloured  flowers  and  scrolls  of  gold 
upon  them,  and  shining,  flat  covers  of  brass.  In  these  was 
contained  the  luggage  from  the  house;  Maieddine's  had  al- 
ready gone  to  the  railway  station.  He  wore  a  plain,  dark  blue 
burnous,  with  the  hood  up,  and  his  chin  and  mouth  were  covered 
by  the  lower  folds  of  the  small  veil  which  fell  from  his  turban, 
as  if  he  were  riding  in  the  desert  against  a  wind  storm.  It 
would  have  been  impossible  even  for  a  friend  to  recognize  him , 
and  the  two  women  in  their  white  veils  were  like  all  native 
women  of  wealth  and  breeding  in  Algiers.  Hsina  was  crying, 
and  Fafann,  who  expected  to  go  with  her  mistress,  was  in- 
sufferably important.  Victoria  felt  that  she  was  living  in  a 
fairy  story,  and  the  wearing  of  the  veil  excited  and  amused  her. 
She  was  happy,  and  looked  forward  to  the  journey  itself  as 
well  as  to  the  journey's  end. 

There  were  few  people  in  the  railway  station,  and  Victoria  saw 
no  European  travellers.  Maieddine  had  taken  the  tickets 
already,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  the  name  of  the  place  to  which 
they  were  going  by  rail.  She  would  have  liked  to  ask,  but  as 
neither  Si  Maieddine  nor  Leila  M'Barka  encouraged  ques- 
tions, she  reminded  herself  that  she  could  easily  read  the  names 
of  the  stations  as  they  passed. 

Soon  the  train  came  in,  and  Maieddine  put  them  into  a  first- 
class  compartment,  which  was  labelled  "reserved,"  though  all 
other  Arabs  were  going  second  or  third.  Fafann  arranged 
cushions  and  haicks  for  Leila  M'Barka;  and  at  six  o'clock  a 


197 

feeble,  sulky-sounding  trumpet  blew,  signalling  the  train  to 
move  out  of  the  station. 

Victoria  was  not  sleepy,  though  she  had  lain  awake  thinking 
excitedly  all  night;  but  Leila  M'Barka  bade  her  rest,  as  the 
day  would  be  tiring.  No  one  talked,  and  presently  Fafann 
began  to  snore.  The  girl's  eyes  met  Si  Maieddine's,  and  they 
smiled  at  each  other.  This  made  him  seem  to  her  more  like 
an  ordinary  human  being  than  he  had  seemed  before. 

After  a  while,  she  dropped  into  a  doze,  and  was  surprised 
when  she  waked  up,  to  find  that  it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock. 
Fafann  had  roused  her  by  moving  about,  collecting  bundles. 
Soon  they  would  be  "there."  And  as  the  train  slowed  down, 
Victoria  saw  that  "there"  was  Bouira. 

This  place  was  the  destination  of  a  number  of  Arab  travellers, 
but  the  instant  they  were  out  of  the  train,  these  passengers 
appeared  to  melt  away  unobtrusively.  Only  one  carriage 
was  waiting,  and  that  was  for  Si  Mai'eddine  and  his  party. 

It  was  a  very  different  carriage  from  Leila  M'Barka's,  in 
Algiers;  a  vehicle  for  the  country,  Victoria  thought  it  not 
unlike  old-fashioned  chaises  in  which  farmers'  families  some- 
times drove  to  Potterston,  to  church.  It  had  side  and  back 
curtains  of  canvas,  which  were  fastened  down,  and  an  Arab 
driver  stood  by  the  heads  of  two  strong  black  mules. 

"This  carriage  belongs  to  a  friend  of  mine,  a  Caiid,"  Maiied- 
dine  explained  to  Victoria.  "He  has  lent  it  to  me,  with  his 
driver  and  mules,  to  use  as  long  as  I  wish.  But  we  shall  have 
to  change  the  mules  often,  before  we  begin  at  last  to  travel  in 
a  different  way." 

"How  quickly  thou  hast  arranged  everything,"  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

This  was  a  welcome  sign  of  appreciation,  and  Maieddine 
was  pleased.  "I  sent  the  Cai'd  a  telegram,"  he  said.  "And 
there  were  many  more  telegrams  to  other  places,  far  ahead. 
That  is  one  good  thing  which  the  French  have  brought  to 
our  country.  The  telegraph  goes  to  the  most  remote  places 


198  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

in  the  Sahara.     By  and  by,  thou  wilt  see  the  poles  striding 
away  over  desert  dunes." 

"  By  and  by !     Dost  thou  mean  to-day  ?  "  asked  Victoria. 

"No,  it  will  be  many  days  before  thou  seest  the  great  dunes. 
But  thou  wilt  see  them  in  the  end,  and  I  think  thou  wilt  love 
them  as  I  do.     Meanwhile,  there  will  be  other  things  of  in- 
terest.    I  shall  not  let  thee  tire  of  the  way,  though  it  be  long." 

He  helped  them  into  the  carriage,  the  invalid  first,  then 
Victoria,  and  got  in  after  them;  Fafann,  muffled  in  her  veil, 
sitting  on  the  seat  beside  the  driver. 

"By  this  time  Mr.  Knight  has  my  letter,  and  has  read  it," 
the  girl  said  to  herself.  "Oh,  I  do  hope  he  won't  be  dis- 
gusted, and  think  me  ungrateful.  How  glad  I  shall  be  when  the 
day  comes  for  me  to  explain." 

As  it  happened,  the  letter  was  in  Maieddine's  thoughts  at 
the  same  moment.  It  occurred  to  him,  too,  that  it  would  have 
been  read  by  now.  He  knew  to  whom  it  had  been  written,  for 
he  had  got  a  friend  of  his  to  bring  him  a  list  of  passengers  on 
board  the  Charles  Quex  on  her  last  trip  from  Marseilles  to 
Algiers.  Also,  he  had  learned  at  whose  house  Stephen  Knight 
was  staying. 

Maieddine  would  gladly  have  forgotten  to  post  the  letter, 
and  could  have  done  so  without  hurting  his  conscience.  Bui 
he  had  thought  it  might  be  better  for  Knight  to  know  that  Miss 
Ray  was  starting  on  a  journey,  and  that  there  was  no  hope  of 
hearing  from  her  for  a  fortnight.  Victoria  had  been  ready  to 
show  him  the  letter,  therefore  she  had  not  written  any  forbidden 
details;  and  Knight  would  probably  feel  that  she  must  be  left 
to  manage  her  own  affairs  in  her  own  way.  No  doubt  he 
would  be  curious,  and  ask  questions  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah, 
but  Maieddine  believed  that  he  had  made  it  impossible  for 
Europeans  to  find  out  anything  there,  or  elsewhere.  He  knew 
that  men  of  Western  countries  could  be  interested  in  a  girl 
without  being  actually  in  love  with  her;  and  though  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  imagine  a  man,  even  a  European,  so  cold 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  199 

as  not  to  fall  in  love  with  Victoria  at  first  sight,  he  hoped  that 
Knight  was  blind  enough  not  to  appreciate  her,  or  that  his 
affections  were  otherwise  engaged.  After  all,  the  two  had 
been  strangers  when  they  came  on  the  boat,  or  had  met  only 
once  before,  therefore  the  Englishman  had  no  right  to  take 
steps  unauthorized  by  the  girl  Altogether,  Maieddine  thought 
he  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  present,  and  to  hope  in 
the  future. 


XXI 


STEPHEN  and  Nevill  Caird  returned  from  Tlemcen 
to  Algiers,  hoping  for  news  of  Victoria,  but  there 
was  none;  and  after  two  days  they  left  for  Grand 
Kabylia. 

The  prophetic  birds  at  Mansourah  had  flown  in  a  south- 
easterly direction,  but  when  Stephen  and  Nevill  started  in 
search  of  Josette's  maid  Mouni,  they  turned  full  east,  their 
faces  looking  towards  the  dark  heights  of  Kabylia.  It  was  not 
Victoria  they  hoped  to  find  there,  however,  or  Saidee  her  sis- 
ter, but  only  a  hint  as  to  their  next  move.  Nevertheless, 
Nevill  was  superstitious  about  the  birds,  and  said  to  Stephen 
when  the  car  had  run  them  out  of  Algiers,  past  Maison  Carre, 
into  open  country:  "Isn't  it  queer  how  the  birds  follow  us? 
I  never  saw  so  many  before.  They're  always  with  us.  It's 
just  as  if  they'd  passed  on  word,  the  way  chupatties  are  passed 
on  in  India,  eh?  Or  maybe  Josette  has  told  her  protegees 
to  look  after  us." 

And  Stephen  smiled,  for  Nevill's  superstitions  were  engag- 
ing, rather  than  repulsive;  and  his  quaintnesses  were  endear- 
ing him  more  and  more  to  the  man  who  had  just  taken  up  the 
dropped  thread  of  friendship  after  eight  or  nine  years.  What 
an  odd  fellow  Nevill  was!  Stephen  thought,  indulgently.  No 
wonder  he  was  worshipped  by  his  servants,  and  even  his 
chauffeur.  No  wonder  Lady  MacGregor  adored  her  nephew, 
though  treating  him  as  if  he  were  a  little  boy! 

One  of  Nevill's  idiosyncrasies,  after  arranging  everything 
to  fit  a  certain  plan,  was  to  rush  off  at  the  last  minute  and  do 
something  entirely  different.  Last  night  —  the  night  before 

200 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  y  201 

starting  for  Grand  Kabylia — he  had  begged  Stephen  to  be  ready 
by  eight,  at  which  time  the  car  was  ordered.  At  nine  - 
having  sat  up  till  three  o'clock  writing  letters,  and  then  hav- 
ing visited  a  lately  imported  gazelle  in  its  quarters — Nevill 
was  still  in  his  bath.  At  length  he  arrived  on  the  scene,  beam- 
ing, with  a  sulky  chameleon  in  his  pocket,  and  flew  about 
giving  last  directions,  until  he  suddenly  discovered  that  there 
was  a  violent  hurry,  whereupon  he  began  to  be  boyishly  peevish 
with  the  chauffeur  for  not  getting  off  an  hour  ago.  No  sooner 
had  the  car  started,  however,  than  he  fell  into  a  serious  mood, 
telling  Stephen  of  many  things  which  he  had  thought  out  in  the 
night  —  things  which  might  be  helpful  in  finding  Victoria. 
He  had  been  lying  awake,  it  seemed,  brooding  on  this  subject, 
and  it  had  occurred  to  him  that,  if  Mouni  should  prove  a  dis- 
appointment, they  might  later  discover  something  really  useful 
by  going  to  the  annual  ball  at  the  Governor's  palace.  This  fes- 
tivity had  been  put  off,  on  account  of  illness  in  the  chief  offi- 
cial's family;  but  it  would  take  place  in  a  fortnight  or  so  now. 
All  the  great  Aghas  and  Caids  of  the  south  would  be  there,  and 
as  Nevill  knew  many  of  them,  he  might  be  able  to  get  definite 
information  concerning  Ben  Halim.  As  for  Saidee  —  to 
hear  of  Ben  Halim  was  to  hear  of  her.  And  then  it  was,  in 
the  midst  of  describing  the  ball,  and  the  important  men  who 
would  attend,  that  Nevill  suddenly  broke  off  to  be  super- 
stitious about  birds. 

It  was  true  that  the  birds  were  everywhere!  little  greenish 
birds  flitting  among  the  trees;  larger  grey-brown  birds  flying 
low;  fairy-like  blue  and  yellow  birds  that  circled  round  the 
car  as  it  ran  east  towards  the  far,  looming  mountains  of  the 
Djurdjura;  larks  that  spouted  music  like  a  fountain  of  jewels 
as  they  soared  into  the  quivering  blue;  and  great,  stately  storks, 
sitting  in  their  nests  on  tall  trees  or  tops  of  poles,  silhouetted 
against  the  sky  as  they  gazed  indifferently  down  at  the  auto- 
mobile. 

"Josette  would  tell  us  it's  splendid  luck  to  see  storks  on 


202  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

their  nests,"  said  Nevill.  "Arabs  think  they  bring  good  fortune 
to  places.  That's  why  people  cut  off  the  tops  of  the  trees  and 
make  nests  for  them,  so  they  can  bless  the  neighbourhood  and 
do  good  to  the  crops.  Storks  have  no  such  menial  work  here 
as  bringing  babies.  Arab  babies  have  to  come  as  best  they 
can  —  sent  into  the  world  anyhow;  for  storks  are  men  who 
didn't  do  their  religious  duties  in  the  most  approved  style,  so 
they  have  to  revisit  the  world  next  time  in  the  form  of  benefi- 
cent birds." 

But  Nevill  did  not  want  to  answer  questions  about  storks 
and  their  habits.  He  had  tired  of  them  in  a  moment,  and 
was  passionately  interested  in  mules.  "There  ought  to  be 
an  epic  written  about  the  mules  of  North  Africa!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  tell  you,  it's  a  great  subject.  Look  at  those  poor  brave 
chaps  struggling  to  pull  carts  piled  up  with  casks  of  beastly 
Algerian  wine,  through  that  sea  of  mud,  which  probably  goes 
all  the  way  through  to  China.  Aren't  they  splendid  ?  Wait  till 
you've  been  in  this  country  as  long  as  I  have,  and  you'll  respect 
mules  as  I  do,  from  army  mules  down  to  the  lowest  dregs  of  the 
mule  kingdom.  I  don't  ask  you  to  love  them  —  and  neither  do 
they.  But  how  they  work  here  in  Africa  —  and  never  a  groan! 
They  go  on  till  they  drop.  And  I  don't  believe  half  of  them  ever 
get  anything  to  eat.  Some  day  I'm  going  to  start  a  Rest  Farm 
for  tired  mules.  I  shall  pay  well  for  them.  A  man  I  know 
did  write  a  paean  of  praise  for  mules.  I  believe  I'll  have  it 
translated  into  Arabic,  and  handed  about  as  a  leaflet.  These 
natives  are  good  to  their  horses,  because  they  believe  they 
have  souls,  but  they  treat  their  mules  like  the  dirt  under  their 
feet."  And  Nevill  began  quoting  here  and  there  a  verse  or  a 
line  he  remembered  of  the  "mule  music,"  chanting  in  time 
to  the  throbbing  of  the  motor. 

"  Key  A  minor,  measure  common, 
One  and  two  and  three  and  four  and  — 
Every  hoof-beat  half  a  second 
Every  hoof-beat  linked  with  heart-beat, 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  203 

Every  heart-beat  nearer  bursting. 
Andantino  sostenuto: 
In  the  downpour  or  the  dryness, 
Hottest  summer,  coldest  winter; 
Sick  and  sore  and  old  and  feeble. 
Hourly,  hourly;  daily,  daily, 
From  the  sunrise  to  the  setting; 
From  the  setting  to  the  sunrise 
Scarce  a  break  in  all  the  circle 
For  the  rough  and  scanty  eating, 
For  the  scant  and  muddy  drinking, 
For  the  fitful,  fearful  resting, 
For  the  master  haunted-sleeping. 
Dreams  in  dark  of  God's  far  heaven 
Tempo  primo;    tempo  sempre." 

And  so,  through  pools  of  wild  flowers  and  the  blood  of  pop- 
pies, their  road  led  to  wild  mountain  scenery,  then  into  the 
embrace  of  the  Djurdjura  mountains  themselves  —  evil,  snow- 
splashed,  sterile-seeming  mountains,  until  the  car  had  passed 
the  fortified  town  of  Tizi  Ouzou,  an  overgrown  village,  whose 
name  Stephen  thought  like  a  drunken  term  of  endearment. 
It  was  market-day  there,  and  the  long  street  was  so  full  of 
Kabyles  dressed  apparently  in  low-necked  woollen  bags,  of 
soldiers  in  uniform,  of  bold-eyed,  scantily-clad  children,  and  of 
dyed  sheep  and  goats,  that  the  car  had  to  pass  at  a  walk.  Nevill 
bought  a  good  deal  of  Kabyle  jewellery,  necklaces  and  long  ear- 
rings, or  boxes  enamelled  in  crude  greens  and  reds,  blues  and 
yellows.  Not  that  he  had  not  already  more  than  he  knew  what 
to  do  with ;  but  he  could  not  resist  the  handsome  unveiled  girls, 
the  wretched  old  women,  or  pretty,  half-naked  children  who 
offered  the  work  of  the  neighbouring  hill  villages,  or  family 
heirlooms.  Sometimes  he  saw  eyes  which  made  him  think  of 
Josette's;  but  then,  all  beautiful  things  that  he  saw  reminded 
him  of  her.  She  was  an  obsession.  But,  for  a  wonder,  he  had 
taken  Stephen's  advice  in  Tlemcen  and  had  not  proposed 
again.  He  was  still  marvelling  at  his  own  strength  of  mind, 
and  asking  himself  if,  after  all,  he  had  been  wise. 


204  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

After  Tizi  Ouzou  the  mountains  were  no  longer  sterile- 
seeming.  The  road  coiled  up  and  up  snakily,  between  rows 
of  leering  cactus;  and  far  below  the  densely  wooded  heights 
lay  lovely  plains  through  which  a  great  river  wandered.  There 
was  a  homely  smell  of  mint,  and  the  country  did  not  look  to 
Stephen  like  the  Africa  he  had  imagined.  All  the  hill-slopes 
were  green  with  the  bright  green  of  fig  trees  and  almonds, 
even  at  heights  so  great  that  the  car  wallowed  among  clouds. 
This  steep  road  was  the  road  to  Fort  National  —  the  "thorn 
in  the  eye  of  Kabylia,"  which  pierces  so  deeply  that  Kabylia 
may  writhe,  but  revolt  no  more.  Already  it  was  almost  as  if 
the  car  had  brought  them  into  another  world.  The  men  who 
occasionally  emerged  from  the  woolly  white  blankets  of  the 
clouds,  were  men  of  a  very  different  type  from  the  mild  Kabyles 
of  the  plains  they  had  met  trooping  along  towards  Algiers  in 
search  of  work. 

These  were  brave,  upstanding  men,  worthy  of  their  fathers 
who  revolted  against  French  rule  and  could  not  be  conquered 
until  that  thorn,  Fort  National,  was  planted  deeply  in  heart  and 
eye.  Some  were  fair,  and  even  red-haired,  which  would  have 
surprised  Stephen  if  he  had  not  heard  from  Nevill  that  in  old 
days  the  Christian  slaves  used  to  escape  from  Algiers  and  seek 
refuge  in  Kabylia,  where  they  were  treated  as  free  men,  and  no 
questions  were  asked. 

Without  Fort  National,  it  seemed  to  Stephen  that  this  strange 
Berber  people  would  never  have  been  forced  to  yield ;  for  look- 
ing down  from  mountain  heights  as  the  motor  sped  on,  it  was 
as  if  he  looked  into  a  vast  and  intricate  maze  of  valleys,  and  on 
each  curiously  pointed  peak  clung  a  Kabyle  village  that  seemed 
to  be  inlaid  in  the  rock  like  separate  bits  of  scarlet  enamel. 
It  was  the  low  house-roofs  which  gave  this  effect,  for  unlike 
the  Arabs,  whom  the  ancient  Berber  lords  of  the  soil  regard 
with  scorn,  the  Kabyles  build  their  dwellings  of  stone,  roofed 
with  red  tiles. 

This  was  a  wild,    tormented    world,    broken    into    a    hun- 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  205 

dred  sharp  mountain  ridges  which  seemed  to  cut  the  sky, 
because  between  the  high  peaks  and  the  tangled  skein  of  far- 
away villages  surged  foaming  seas  of  cloud,  which  appeared  to 
separate  high,  bright  peaks  from  shadowed  vales,  by  incredible 
distances.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  travel  with  utmost  strain- 
ing, away  to  the  dark,  imposing  background  of  the  Djurdjura 
range,  billowed  ridges  and  ravines,  ravines  and  ridges,  each 
pointing  pinnacle  or  razor-shelf  adorned  with  its  coral-red 
hamlet,  like  a  group  of  poisonous  fungi,  or  the  barnacles  on  a 
ship's  steep  side.  Such  an  extraordinary  landscape  Stephen 
had  never  imagined,  or  seen  except  on  a  Japanese  fan;  and  it 
struck  him  that  the  scene  actually  did  resemble  quaint 
prints  picturing  half-real,  half-imaginary  scenes  in  old 
Japan. 

"What  a  country  for  war!  What  a  country  for  defence!"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  Nevill's  yellow  car  sped  along  the  levels  of 
narrow  ridges  that  gave,  on  either  hand,  vertical  views  far 
down  to  fertile  valleys,  rushed  into  clouds  of  weeping  rain,  or 
out  into  regions  of  sunlight  and  rainbows. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  they  reached  Michelet,  but  they  had 
not  stopped  for  luncheon,  as  both  were  in  haste  to  find  Mouni: 
and  Mouni's  village  was  just  beyond  Michelet.  Since  Fort 
National,  they  had  been  in  the  heart  of  Grand  Kabylia;  and 
Michelet  was  even  more  characteristic  of  this  strange  mountain 
country,  so  different  from  transplanted  Arabia  below. 

Not  an  Arab  lived  here,  in  the  long,  straggling  town,  built 
on  the  crest  of  a  high  ridge.  Not  a  minaret  tower  pointed 
skyward.  The  Kabyle  place  of  worship  had  a  roof  of  little 
more  height  or  importance  than  those  that  clustered  round  it. 
The  men  were  in  striped  brown  gandourahs  of  camel's  hair; 
the  lovely  unveiled  women  were  wrapped  in  woollen  foutahs 
dyed  red  or  yellow,  blue  or  purple,  and  from  their  little  ears 
heavy  rings  dangled.  The  blue  tattoo  marks  on  their  brown 
cheeks  and  foreheads,  which  in  forgotten  times  had  been  Chris- 
tian crosses,  gave  great  value  to  their  enormous,  kohl-encircled 


206  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

eyes;  and  their  teeth  were  very  white  as  they  smiled  boldly,  yet 
proudly,  at  Stephen  and  Nevill. 

There  was  a  flight  of  steps  to  mount  from  the  car  to  the  hotel, 
and  as  the  two  men  climbed  the  stairs  they  turned  to  look, 
across  a  profound  chasm,  to  the  immense  mass  of  the  Djurd- 
jura  opposite  Michelet's  thin  ledge.  From  their  point  of  view, 
it  was  like  the  Jungfrau,  as  Stephen  had  seen  it  from  Mitrren, 
on  one  of  his  few  trips  to  Switzerland.  Somehow,  those  little 
conventional  potterings  of  his  seemed  pitiable  now,  they  had 
been  so  easy  to  do,  so  exactly  what  other  people  did. 

It  was  long  past  ordinary  luncheon  time,  and  hunger  con- 
strained the  two  men  to  eat  before  starting  out  to  find  the 
village  where  Mouni  and  her  people  lived.  It  was  so  small 
a  hamlet,  that  Nevill,  who  knew  Kabylia  well,  had  never  heard 
of  it  until  Josette  Soubise  wrote  the  name  for  him  on  one  of 
her  own  cards.  The  landlord  of  the  hotel  at  Michelet  gave 
rapid  and  fluent  directions  how  to  go,  saying  that  the  distance 
was  two  miles,  but  as  the  way  was  a  steep  mountain  path, 
les  messieurs  must  go  on  foot. 

Immediately  after  lunching  they  started,  armed  with  a 
present  for  the  bride;  a  watch  encrusted  with  tiny  brilliants, 
which,  following  Josette 's  advice,  they  had  chosen  as  the  one 
thing  of  all  others  calculated  to  win  the  Kabyle  girl's  heart. 
"  It  will  be  like  a  fairy  dream  to  her  to  have  a  watch  of  her  own,'* 
Josette  had  said.  "Her  friends  will  be  dying  of  envy,  and  she 
will  enjoy  that.  Oh,  she  will  search  her  soul  and  tell  you 
everything  she  knows,  if  you  but  give  her  a  watch!" 

For  a  little  way  the  friends  walked  along  the  wild  and  beau- 
tiful road,  which  from  Michelet  plunges  down  the  mountains 
toward  Bougie  and  the  sea;  but  soon  they  came  to  the  nar- 
row, ill-defined  footpath  described  by  the  landlord.  It  led 
straight  up  a  steep  shoulder  of  rock  which  at  its  highest  part 
became  a  ledge;  and  when  they  had  climbed  to  the  top,  at  a 
distance  they  could  see  a  cluster  of  red  roofs  apparently  fall- 
ing down  a  precipice,  at  the  far  end. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  207 

Here  and  there  were  patches  of  snow,  white  as  fallen  lily- 
petals  on  the  pansy-coloured  earth.  Looking  down  was  like 
looking  from  a  high  wave  upon  a  vast  sea  of  other  waves,  each 
wave  carrying  on  its  apex  a  few  bits  of  broken  red  mosaic,  which 
were  Kabyle  roofs;  and  the  pale  sky  was  streaked  with  ragged 
violet  clouds  exactly  like  the  sky  and  clouds  painted  on  screens 
by  Japanese  artists. 

They  met  not  a  soul  as  they  walked,  but  while  the  village 
was  still  far  away  and  unreal,  the  bark  of  guns,  fired  quickly 
one  after  the  other,  jarred  their  ears,  and  the  mountain  wind 
brought  a  crying  of  rai'tas,  African  clarionettes,  and  the  dull, 
yet  fierce  beat  of  tom-toms. 

"Now  I  know  why  we've  met  no  one,"  said  Nevill.  "The 
wedding  feast's  still  on,  and  everybody  who  is  anybody  at 
Yacoua,  is  there.  You  know,  if  you're  an  Arab,  or  even  a 
Kabyle,  it  takes  you  a  week  to  be  married  properly,  and  you 
have  high  jinks  every  day:  music  and  dancing  and  eating,  and 
if  you've  money  enough,  above  all  you  make  the  powder 
speak.  Mouni's  people  are  doing  her  well.  What  a 
good  thing  we've  got  the  watch!  Even  with  Josette's 
introduction  we  mightn't  have  been  able  to  come  near 
the  bride,  unless  we  had  something  to  offer  worth  her 
having." 

The  mountain  village  of  Yacoua  had  no  suburbs,  no  out- 
lying houses.  The  one-story  mud  huts  with  their  pointed  red 
roofs,  utterly  unlike  Arab  dwellings,  were  huddled  together, 
with  only  enough  distance  between  for  a  man  and  a  mule  or  a 
donkey  to  pass.  The  best  stood  in  pairs,  with  a  walled  yard 
between;  and  as  Stephen  and  Nevill  searched  anxiously  for 
some  one  to  point  out  the  home  of  Mouni,  from  over  a  wall 
which  seemed  to  be  running  down  the  mountain-side,  came 
a  white  puff  of  smoke  and  a  strident  bang,  then  more,  one  after 
the  other.  Again  the  wailing  of  the  rai'ta  began,  and  there 
was  no  longer  any  need  to  ask  the  way. 

"That's  where  the  party  is — in  that  yard,"  said  Nevill, 


208  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

beginning  to  be  excited.  "Now,  what  sort  of  reception  will 
they  give  us  ?  That's  the  next  question." 

"Can't  we  tell,  the  first  thing,  that  we've  come  from  Algiers 
with  a  present  for  the  bride?"  suggested  Stephen. 

"We  can  if  they  understand  Arabic,"  Nevill  answered. 
"But  the  Kabyle  lingo's  quite  different — Berber,  or  some- 
thing racy  of  the  soil.  I  ought  to  have  brought  Mohammed 
to  interpret." 

So  steeply  did  the  yard  between  the  low  houses  run  down- 
hill, that,  standing  at  the  top  of  a  worn  path  like  a  seam  in 
some  old  garment,  the  two  Europeans  could  look  over  the  mud 
wall.  Squalid  as  were  the  mud  huts  and  the  cattle-yard  con- 
necting them,  the  picture  framed  in  the  square  enclosure  blazed 
with  colour.  It  was  barbaric,  and  beautiful  in  its  savagery. 

Squatting  on  the  ground,  with  the  last  rank  against  the  house 
wall,  were  several  rows  of  women,  all  unveiled,  their  uncovered 
arms  jewelled  to  the  elbows,  embracing  their  knees.  The  after- 
noon sunlight  shone  on  their  ceremonial  finery,  setting  fire  to 
the  red,  blue  and  green  enamel  of  their  necklaces,  their  huge 
hoop  earrings  and  the  jewelled  silver  chains  pinned  to  their 
scarlet  or  yellow  head-wrappings,  struck  out  strange  gleams 
from  the  flat,  round  brooches  which  fastened  their  gaily  striped 
robes  on  their  shoulders,  and  turned  their  great  dark  eyes  into 
brown  topazes.  Twenty  or  thirty  men,  dressed  in  their  best 
burnouses,  draped  over  new  gandouralis,  their  heads  swathed  in 
clean  white  muslin  turbans,  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  court, 
watching  the  "powder  play"  furnished  by  two  tall,  handsome 
boys,  who  handled  with  delicate  grace  and  skill  old-fashioned, 
long-muzzled  guns  inlaid  with  coral  and  silver,  heirlooms  per- 
haps, and  of  some  value  even  to  antiquaries. 

While  the  powder  spoke,  nobody  had  a  thought  for  anything 
else.  All  eyes  were  upon  the  boys  with  the  guns,  only  trav- 
elling upward  in  ecstasy  to  watch  the  puffs  of  smoke  that 
belched  out  round  and  white  as  fat  snowballs.  Then,  when 
the  music  burst  forth  again,  and  a  splendidly  handsome  young 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  209 

Kabyle  woman  ran  forward  to  begin  the  wild  dance  of  the  body 
and  of  the  hands  —  dear  to  the  mountain  men  as  to  the  nomads 
of  the  desert  —  every  one  was  at  first  absorbed  in  admiration 
of  her  movements.  But  suddenly  a  child  (one  of  a  dozen  in 
a  row  in  front  of  all  the  women)  tired  of  the  show,  less  amus- 
ing to  him  than  the  powder  play,  and  looking  up,  saw  the  two 
Roumis  on  the  hill  behind  the  wall.  He  nudged  his  neighbour, 
and  the  neighbour,  who  happened  to  be  a  little  girl,  followed 
with  her  eyes  the  upward  nod  of  his  head.  So  the  news  went 
round  that  strangers  had  come  uninvited  to  the  wedding-feast, 
and  men  began  to  frown  and  women  to  whisper,  while  the 
dancer  lost  interest  in  her  own  tinklings  and  genuflections. 

It  was  time  for  the  intruders  to  make  it  known  that  business 
of  some  sort,  not  idle  curiosity,  had  brought  them  on  the  scene, 
and  Nevill  stepped  forward,  holding  out  the  visiting  card  given 
him  by  Josette,  and  the  crimson  velvet  case  containing  the 
watch  which  Stephen  had  bought  in  Algiers. 


xxn 

AN  ELDERLY  man,  with  a  reddish  beard,  got  up  from 
the  row  of  men  grouped  behind  the  musicians, 
and  muttered  to  one  of  the  youths  who  had  been 
making  the  powder  speak.  They  argued  for  a 
moment,  and  then  the  boy,  handing  his  gun  to  the  elder  man, 
walked  with  dignity  to  a  closed  gate,  large  enough  to  let  in  the 
goats  and  donkeys  pertaining  to  the  two  houses.  This  gate 
he  opened  half-way,  standing  in  the  aperture  and  looking  up 
sullenly  as  the  Roumis  came  down  the  narrow,  slippery  track 
which  led  to  it. 

"Cebah  el-kheir,  ia  Sidi  —  Good  day,  sir,"  said  Nevill, 
agreeably,  in  his  best  Arabic.  "Ta' rafi  el-a'riya? — Do  you 
speak  Arabic?" 

The  young  man  bowed,  not  yet  conciliated.  "Ach  men 
sebba  jit  Ihena,  ia  Sidi? — Why  have  you  come  here,  sir?"  he 
asked  suspiciously,  in  very  guttural  Arabic. 

Relieved  to  find  that  they  would  have  no  great  difficulty 
in  understanding  each  other,  Nevill  plunged  into  explanations, 
pointing  to  Josette's  card.  They  had  come  recommended  by 
the  malema  at  Tlemcen.  -They  brought  good  wishes  and  a 
present  to  the  bride  of  the  village,  the  virtuous  and  beautiful 
Mouni,  from  whom  they  would  gladly  receive  information 
concerning  a  European  lady.  Was  this  the  house  of  her  father  ? 
Would  they  be  permitted  to  speak  with  her,  and  give  this  little 
watch  from  Algiers  ? 

Nevill  made  his  climax  by  opening  the  velvet  case,  and  the 
brown  eyes  of  the  Kabyle  boy  flashed  with  uncontrollable  ad- 
miration, though  his  face  remained  immobile.  He  answered 

210 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  211 

that  this  was  indeed  the  house  of  Mouni's  father,  and  he  himself 
was  the  brother  of  Mouni.  This  was  the  last  day  of  her  wed- 
ding-feast, and  in  an  hour  she  would  go  to  the  home  of  her 
husband.  The  consent  of  the  latter,  as  well  as  of  her  father, 
must  be  asked  before  strangers  could  hope  to  speak  with  her. 
Nevertheless,  the  Roumis  were  welcome  to  enter  the  yard  and 
watch  the  entertainment  while  Mouni's  brother  consulted  with 
those  most  concerned  in  this  business. 

The  boy  stood  aside,  inviting  them  to  pass  through  the  gate, 
and  the  Englishmen  availed  themselves  of  his  courtesy,  waiting 
just  inside  until  the  red-bearded  man  came  forward.  He  and 
his  son  consulted  together,  and  then  a  dark  young  man  in  a 
white  burnous  was  called  to  join  the  conclave.  He  was  a  hand- 
some fellow,  with  a  haughtily  intelligent  face,  and  an  air  of 
breeding  superior  to  the  others. 

"This  is  my  sister's  husband.  He  too  speaks  Arabic,  but 
my  father  not  so  much."  The  boy  introduced  his  brother-in- 
law.  "Messaud-ben-Arzen  is  the  son  of  our  Ca'id,"  (he  spoke 
proudly).  "Will  you  tell  him  and  my  father  what  your 
business  is  with  Mouni?" 

Nevill  broke  into  more  explanations,  and  evidently  they 
were  satisfactory,  for,  while  the  dancing  and  the  powder  play 
were  stopped,  and  the  squatting  ranks  of  guests  stared  silently, 
the  two  Roumis  were  conducted  into  the  house. 

It  was  larger  than  most  of  the  houses  in  the  village,  but 
apart  from  the  stable  of  the  animals  through  which  the  visitors 
passed,  there  was  but  one  room,  long  and  narrow,  lighted  by 
two  small  windows.  The  darkest  corner  was  the  bedroom, 
which  had  a  platform  of  stone  on  which  rugs  were  spread,  and 
there  was  a  lower  mound  of  dried  mud,  roughly  curtained  off 
from  the  rest  with  two  or  three  red  and  blue  foutahs  suspended 
on  ropes  made  of  twisted  alfa,  or  dried  grass.  Toward  the 
farther  end,  a  hole  in  the  floor  was  the  family  cooking-place, 
and  behind  it  an  elevation  of  beaten  earth  made  a  wide  shelf 
for  a  long  row  of  jars  shaped  like  the  Roman  amphorae  of  two 


212  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

thousand  years  ago.  Pegs  driven  into  one  of  the  walls  were 
hung  with  gandourahs  and  a  foutah  or  two;  and  of  furniture, 
worthy  of  that  name  in  the  eyes  of  Europeans,  there  was  none. 

At  the  bedroom  end  of  the  room,  several  women  were  gathered 
round  a  central  object  of  interest,  and  though  the  light  was  dim 
after  the  vivid  sunshine  outside,  the  visitors  guessed  that  the 
object  of  interest  was  the  bride.  Decorously  they  paused  near 
the  door,  while  a  great  deal  of  arguing  went  on,  in  which  the 
shriller  voices  of  women  mingled  with  the  guttural  tones  of  the 
men.  Nevill  could  catch  no  word,  for  they  were  talking  their 
own  Kabyle  tongue  which  had  come  down  from  their  fore- 
fathers the  Berbers,  lords  of  the  land  long  years  before  the  Arabs 
drove  them  into  the  high  mountains.  But  at  last  the  group 
opened,  and  a  young  woman  stepped  out  with  half -shy  eager- 
ness. She  was  loaded  with  jewels,  and  her  foutah  was  bar- 
barically  splendid  in  colour,  but  she  was  almost  as  fair  as  her 
father;  a  slim  creature  with  grey  eyes,  and  brown  curly  hair  that 
showed  under  her  orange  foulard. 

Proud  of  her  French,  she  began  talking  in  that  language,  wel- 
coming the  guests,  telling  them  how  glad  she  was  to  see  friends 
of  her  dear  Mademoiselle  Soubise.  But  soon  she  must  be 
gone  to  her  husband's  house,  and  already  the  dark  young 
bridegroom,  son  of  the  Caid,  was  growing  impatient.  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost,  if  they  were  to  learn  anything  of  Ben 
Halim's  wife. 

As  a  preface  to  what  they  wished  to  ask,  Nevill  made  a  pre- 
sentation speech,  placing  the  velvet  watch-case  in  Mouni's 
hand,  and  she  opened  it  with  a  kind  of  moan  expressing  intense 
rapture.  Never  had  she  seen  anything  so  beautiful,  and  she 
would  cheerfully  have  recalled  every  phase  of  her  career  from 
earliest  babyhood,  if  by  doing  so  she  could  have  pleased  the 
givers. 

"But  yes,"  she  answered  to  Nevill's  first  questions,  "the 
beautiful  lady  whom  I  served  was  the  wife  of  Sidi  Cassim  ben 
Halim.  At  first  it  was  in  Algiers  that  I  lived  with  her,  but 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  213 

soon  we  left,  and  went  to  the  country,  far,  oh,  very  far  away, 
going  towards  the  south.  The  house  was  like  a  large  farm- 
house, and  to  me  as  a  child  —  for  I  was  but  a  child  —  it  seemed 
fine  and  grand.  Yet  my  lady  was  not  pleased.  She  found  it 
rough,  and  different  from  any  place  to  which  she  was  used. 
Poor,  beautiful  lady!  She  was  not  happy  there.  She  cried 
a  great  deal,  and  each  day  I  thought  she  grew  paler  than  the 
day  before." 

Mouni  spoke  in  French,  hesitating  now  and  then  for  a  word, 
or  putting  in  two  or  three  in  Arabic,  before  she  stopped  to  think, 
as  she  grew  interested  in  her  subject.  Stephen  understood 
almost  all  she  said,  and  was  too  impatient  to  leave  the  catechiz- 
ing to  Nevill. 

"Whereabouts  was  this  farmhouse?"  he  asked.  "Can't 
you  tell  us  how  to  find  it?" 

Mouni  searched  her  memory.  "I  was  not  yet  thirteen," 
she  said.  "It  is  nine  years  since  I  left  that  place;  and  I  travelled 
in  a  shut-up  carriage,  with  a  cousin,  older  than  I,  who  had  been 
already  in  the  house  of  the  lady  when  I  came.  She  told  her 
mistress  of  me,  and  I  was  sent  for,  because  I  was  quick  and 
lively  in  my  ways,  and  white  of  face,  almost  as  white  as  the 
beautiful  lady  herself.  My  work  was  to  wait  on  the  mistress, 
and  help  my  cousin,  who  was  her  maid.  Yamina — that  was  my 
cousin's  name  —  could  have  told  you  more  about  the  place  in  the 
country  than  I,  for  she  was  even  then  a  woman.  But  she  died 
a  few  months  after  we  both  left  the  beautiful  lady.  We  left 
because  the  master  thought  my  cousin  carried  a  letter  for  her 
mistress,  which  he  did  not  wish  sent;  and  he  gave  orders  that 
we  should  no  longer  live  under  his  roof." 

"Surely  you  can  remember  where  you  went,  and  how  you 
went,  on  leaving  the  farmhouse?"  Stephen  persisted. 

"  Oh  yes,  we  went  back  to  Algiers.  But  it  was  a  long  distance, 
and  took  us  many  days,  because  we  had  only  a  little  money,  and 
Yamina  would  not  spend  it  in  buying  tickets  for  the  diligence, 
all  the  way.  We  walked  many  miles,  and  only  took  a  diligence 


214  THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE 

when  I  cried,  and  was  too  tired  to  move  a  step  farther.  At 
night  we  drove  sometimes,  I  remember,  and  often  we  rested 
under  the  tents  of  nomads  who  were  kind  to  us. 

"While  I  was  with  the  lady,  I  never  went  outside  the  great 
courtyard.  It  is  not  strange  that  now,  after  all  these  years,  I 
cannot  tell  you  more  clearly  where  the  house  was.  But  it  was 
a  great  white  house,  on  a  hill,  and  round  it  was  a  high 
wall,  with  towers  that  overlooked  the  country  beneath.  And 
in  those  towers,  which  were  on  either  side  the  big,  wide  gate, 
were  little  windows  through  which  men  could  spy,  or  even 
shoot  if  they  chose." 

"Did  you  never  hear  the  name  of  any  town  that  was  near?" 
Stephen  went  on. 

"I  do  not  think  there  was  a  town  near;  yet  there  was  a  vil- 
lage not  far  off  to  the  south.  I  saw  it  from  the  hill-top,  both  as 
I  went  in  at  the  gate  with  my  cousin,  and  when,  months  later, 
I  was  sent  away  with  her.  We  did  not  pass  through  it,  be- 
cause our  road  was  to  and  from  the  north;  and  I  do  not  even 
know  the  name  of  the  village.  But  there  was  a  cemetery 
outside  it,  where  some  of  the  master's  ancestors  and  relations 
were  buried.  I  heard  my  lady  speak  of  it  one  day,  when  she 
cried  because  she  feared  to  die  and  be  laid  there  without  ever 
again  seeing  her  own  country  and  her  own  people.  Oh,  and 
once  I  heard  Yamina  talk  with  another  servant  about  an  oasis 
called  Bou-Saada.  It  was  not  near,  yet  I  think  it  could  be 
reached  by  diligence  in  a  long  day." 

"Good!"  broke  in  Nevill.  "There's  our  first  real  clue! 
Bou-Saada  I  know  well.  When  people  who  come  and  visit 
me  want  a  glimpse  of  the  desert  in  a  hurry,  Bou-Saada  is  where 
I  take  them.  One  motors  there  from  Algiers  in  seven  or  eight 
hours  —  through  mountains  at  first,  then  on  the  fringe  of  the 
desert;  but  it's  true,  as  Mouni  says,  going  by  diligence,  and 
walking  now  and  then,  it  would  be  a  journey  of  days.  Her 
description  of  the  house  on  the  hill,  looking  down  over  a  vil- 
lage and  cemetery,  will  be  a  big  help.  And  Ben  Halim's 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  215 

name  is  sure  to  be  known  in  the  country  round,  if  he  ever  lived 
there." 

"He  may  have  been  gone  for  years,"  said  Stephen.  "And  if 
there's  a  conspiracy  of  silence  in  Algiers,  why  not  elsewhere?" 

"Well,  at  least  we've  got  a  clue,  and  will  follow  it  up  for 
all  we  know.  By  Jove,  this  is  giving  me  a  new  interest  in  life!" 
And  Nevill  rubbed  his  hands  in  a  boyish  way  he  had.  "Tell 
us  what  the  beautiful  lady  was  like,"  he  went  on  to 
Mouni. 

"Her  skin  was  like  the  snow  on  our  mountain-tops  when  the 
sunrise  paints  the  white  with  rose,"  answered  Mouni.  "Her 
hair  was  redder  than  the  red  of  henna,  and  when  it  was  un- 
fastened it  hung  down  below  her  waist.  Her  eyes  were  dark 
as  a  night  without  moon,  and  her  teeth  were  little,  little  pearls. 
Yet  for  all  her  beauty  she  was  not  happy.  She  wasted  the 
flower  of  her  youth  in  sadness,  and  though  the  master  was  noble, 
and  splendid  as  the  sun  to  look  upon,  I  think  she  had  no  love 
to  give  him,  perhaps  because  he  was  grave  and  seldom  smiled, 
or  because  she  was  a  Roumia  and  could  not  suit  herself  to  the 
ways  of  true  believers." 

"Did  she  keep  to  her  own  religion?"  asked  Stephen. 

"That  I  cannot  tell.  I  was  too  young  to  understand.  She 
never  talked  of  such  things  before  me,  but  she  kept  to  none  of 
our  customs,  that  I  know.  In  the  three  months  I  served  her, 
never  did  she  leave  the  house,  not  even  to  visit  the  cemetery 
on  a  Friday,  as  perhaps  the  master  would  have  allowed  her 
to  do,  if  she  had  wished." 

"Do  you  remember  if  she  spoke  of  a  sister  ?" 

"She  had  a  photograph  of  a  little  girl,  whose  picture  looked 
like  herself.  Once  she  told  me  it  was  her  sister,  but  the  next 
day  the  photograph  was  gone  from  its  place,  and  I  never  saw 
it  again.  Yamina  thought  the  master  was  jealous,  because 
our  lady  looked  at  it  a  great  deal." 

"Was  there  any  other  lady  in  that  house,"  Nevill  ventured, 
"or  was  yours  the  master's  only  wife?" 


216  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"There  was  no  other  lady  at  that  time,"  Mouni  replied 
promptly. 

"So  far,  so  good,"  said  Nevill.  "Well,  Legs,  I  don't  think 
there's  any  doubt  we've  got  hold  of  the  right  end  of  the  stick 
now.  Mouni's  beautiful  lady  and  Miss  Ray's  sister  Saidee  are 
certainly  one  and  the  same.  Ho  for  the  white  farmhouse  on 
the  hill!" 

"Must  we  go  back  to  Algiers,  or  can  we  get  to  Bou-Saada 
from  here  ?  "  Stephen  asked. 

Nevill  laughed.  "You  are  in  a  hurry!  Oh,  we  can  get 
there  from  here  all  right.  Would  you  like  to  start  now?" 

Stephen's  face  reddened.  "Why  not,  if  we've  found  out  all 
we  can  from  this  girl?"  He  tried  to  speak  indifferently. 

Nevill  laughed  again.  "Very  well.  There's  nothing  left 
then,  except  to  say  good-bye  to  the  fair  bride  and  her  rela- 
tions." 

He  had  expected  to  get  back  to  Algiers  that  night,  slipping 
away  from  the  high  passes  of  Grand  Kabylia  before  dusk, 
and  reaching  home  late,  by  lamplight.  But  now  the  plan  was 
changed.  They  were  not  to  see  Algiers  again  until  Stephen 
had  made  acquaintance  with  the  desert.  By  setting  off  at  once, 
they  might  arrive  at  Bou-Saada  some  time  in  the  dark  hours; 
and  Nevill  upset  his  old  arrangements  with  good  grace.  Why 
should  he  mind?  he  asked,  when  Stephen  apologized  shame- 
facedly for  his  impatience.  Bou-Saada  was  as  good  a  place 
as  any,  except  Tlemcen,  and  this  adventure  would  give  him 
an  excuse  for  a  letter,  even  two  letters,  to  Josette  Soubise. 
She  would  want  to  hear  about  Mouni's  wedding,  and  the  stately 
Kabyle  home  which  they  had  visited.  Besides  she  would  be 
curious  to  know  whether  they  found  the  white  farmhouse  on 
the  hill,  and  if  so,  what  they  learned  there  of  the  beautiful  lady 
and  her  mysterious  fate.  Oh  yes,  it  would  certainly  mean  two 
letters  at  least:  one  from  Bou-Saada,  one  after  the  search  for 
the  farmhouse;  and  Nevill  thought  himself  in  luck,  for  he 
was  not  allowed  to  write  often  to  Josette. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  217 

After  Michelet  the  road,  a  mere  shelf  projecting  along  a  pre- 
cipice, slants  upward  on  its  way  to  the  Col  de  Tirouda,  sharp 
as  a  knife  aimed  at  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  From  far 
below  clouds  boil  up  as  if  the  valleys  smoked  after  a  destroying 
fire,  and  through  flying  mists  flush  the  ruddy  earth,  turning 
the  white  film  to  pinkish  gauze.  Crimson  and  purple  stones 
shine  like  uncut  jewels,  and  cascades  of  yellow  gorse,  under 
red-flowering  trees,  pour  down  over  low-growing  white  flowers, 
which  embroider  the  rose-coloured  rocks. 

Then,  suddenly,  gone  is  the  green  Kabyle  mountain-world, 
gone  like  a  dream  the  tangle  of  ridges  and  chasms,  the  bright 
tapestry  of  fig  trees  and  silver  olives,  dark  karoubias  (the  wild 
locusts  of  John  the  Baptist)  and  climbing  roses.  Rough, 
coarse  grass  has  eaten  up  the  flowers,  or  winds  sweeping  down 
from  the  Col  have  killed  them.  Only  a  few  stunted  trees 
bend  grotesquely  to  peer  over  the  sheer  sides  of  shadowed  gorges 
as  the  road  strains  up  and  up,  twisting  like  a  scar  left  by  a  whip- 
lash, on  the  naked  brown  shoulders  of  a  slave.  So  at  last  it 
flings  a  loop  over  the  Col  de  Tirouda.  Then,  round  a  corner 
the  wand  of  an  invisible  magician  waves:  darkness  and  winter 
cold  become  summer  warmth  and  light. 

This  light  was  the  level  golden  glory  of  late  afternoon  when 
Stephen  saw  it  from  Nevill's  car;  and  so  green  were  the  wide 
stretching  meadows  and  shining  rivers  far  below,  that  he  seemed 
to  be  looking  at  them  through  an  emerald,  as  Nero  used  to 
gaze  at  his  gardens  in  Rome.  Down  the  motor  plunged  towards 
the  light,  threading  back  and  forth  a  network  of  zig-zags,  until 
long  before  sunset  they  were  in  the  warm  lowlands,  racing 
towards  Bordj-bou  Arreredj  and  Msila.  Beyond  Msila,  they 
would  follow  the  desert  track  which  would  bring  them  by  and 
by  to  the  oasis  town  of  Bou-Saada. 

If  Stephen  had  been  a  tourist,  guide-book  in  hand,  he  would 
have  delighted  in  the  stony  road  among  the  mountains  between 
Bordj-bou  Arreredj  and  Msila;  but  it  was  the  future,  not  the 
past,  which  held  his  thoughts  to-day,  and  he  had  no  more  than 


218  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

a  passing  glance  for  ruined  mosques  and  palaces.  It  was  only 
after  nightfall,  far  beyond  the  town  of  Msila,  far  beyond  the 
vast  plain  of  the  Hodna,  that  his  first  dim  glimpse  of  the  desert 
thrilled  him  out  of  self -absorption. 

Even  under  the  stars  which  crusted  a  moonless  sky,  the  vast 
stretches  of  billowing  sand  glimmered  faintly  golden  as  a  phos- 
phorescent sea.  And  among  the  dimly  gleaming  waves  of  that 
endless  waste  the  motor  tossed,  rocking  on  the  rough  track 
like  a  small  boat  in  mid-ocean. 

Nowhere  was  there  any  sound  except  the  throbbing  of  their 
machinery,  and  a  fairy  fiddling  of  unseen  crickets,  which  seemed 
to  make  the  silence  more  intense,  under  the  great  sparkling  dome 
that  hung  over  the  gold. 

"Now  I  am  in  the  place  where  she  wished  to  be:  the  golden 
silence,"  Stephen  said  to  himself.  And  he  found  himself 
listening,  as  if  for  the  call  Victoria  had  promised  to  give  if  she 
needed  him. 


XXIII 

ON  THE  top  of  a  pale  golden  hill,  partly  sand,  partly 
rock,  rises  a  white  wall  with  square,  squat  towers  which 
look  north  and  south,  east  and  west.  The  wall 
and  the  towers  together  are  like  an  ivory  crown 
set  on  the  hill's  brow,  and  from  a  distance  the  effect  is  very 
barbaric,  very  impressive,  for  all  the  country  round  about  is 
wild  and  desolate.  Along  the  southern  horizon  the  desert  goes 
billowing  in  waves  of  gold,  and  rose,  and  violet,  that  fade  into 
the  fainter  violet  of  the  sky;  and  nearer  there  are  the  strange 
little  mountains  which  guard  the  oasis  of  Bou-Saada,  like  a 
wall  reared  to  hide  a  treasure  from  some  dreaded  enemy;  and 
even  the  sand  is  heaped  in  fantastic  shapes,  resembling  a  troop 
of  tawny  beasts  crouched  to  drink  from  deep  pools  of  purple 
shadow.  Northward,  the  crumpled  waste  rolls  away  like 
prairie  land  or  ocean,  faint  green  over  yellow  brown,  as  if  grass 
seed  had  been  sprinkled  sparsely  on  a  stormy  sea  and  by  some 
miracle  had  sprouted.  And  in  brown  wastes,  bright  emerald 
patches  gleam,  vivid  and  fierce  as  serpents'  eyes,  ringed  round 
with  silver.  Far  away  to  the  east  floats  the  mirage  of  a  lake, 
calm  as  a  blue  lagoon.  Westward,  where  desert  merges  into 
sky,  are  high  tablelands,  and  flat-topped  mountains  with 
carved  sides,  desert  architecture,  such  as  might  have  sug- 
gested Egyptian  temples  and  colossal  sphinxes. 

Along  the  rough  desert  track  beneath  the  hill,  where  bald 
stones  break  through  sandy  earth,  camels  come  and  go,  passing 
from  south  to  north,  from  north  to  south,  marching  slowly  with 
rhythmic  gait,  as  if  to  the  sound  of  music  which  only  they  can 
hear,  glancing  from  side  to  side  with  unutterable  supercilious- 

219 


220  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ness,  looking  wistfully  here  and  there  at  some  miniature  oasis 
thrown  like  a  dark  prayer-carpet  on  the  yellow  sand.  Two  or 
three  in  a  band  they  go,  led  by  desert  men  in  blowing  white, 
or  again  in  a  long  train  of  twelve  or  twenty,  their  legs  a  moving 
lattice,  their  heart-shaped  feet  making  a  soft,  swishing  "pad- 
pad,"  on  the  hard  road. 

The  little  windows  of  the  squat,  domed  towers  on  the  hill 
are  like  eyes  that  spy  upon  this  road, —  small,  dark  and  secret 
eyes,  very  weary  of  seeing  nothing  better  than  camels  since  old 
days  when  there  were  razzias,  and  wars,  something  worth 
shutting  stout  gates  upon. 

When,  after  three  days  of  travelling,  Victoria  came  south- 
ward along  this  road,  and  looked  between  the  flapping  carriage 
curtains  at  the  white  wall  that  crowned  the  dull  gold  hill,  her 
heart  beat  fast,  for  the  thought  of  the  golden  silence  sprang  to 
her  mind.  The  gold  did  not  burn  with  the  fierce  orange  flames 
she  had  seen  in  her  dreams — it  was  a  bleached  and  faded  gold, 
melancholy  and  almost  sinister  in  colour;  yet  it  would  pass  for 
gold;  and  a  great  silence  brooded  where  prairie  blended  with 
desert.  She  asked  no  questions  of  Maieddine,  for  that  was  a 
rule  she  had  laid  upon  herself;  but  when  the  carriage  turned  out 
of  the  rough  road  it  had  followed  so  long,  and  the  horses  began 
to  climb  a  stony  track  which  wound  up  the  yellow  hill  to  the 
white  towers,  she  could  hardly  breathe,  for  the  throbbing  in 
her  breast.  Always  she  had  only  had  to  shut  her  eyes  to  see 
Saidee,  standing  on  a  high  white  place,  gazing  westward  through 
a  haze  of  gold.  What  if  this  were  the  high  white  place  ?  What 
if  already  Si  Maieddine  was  bringing  her  to  Saidee? 

They  had  been  only  three  days  on  the  way  so  far,  it  was  true, 
and  she  had  been  told  that  the  journey  would  be  very,  very 
long.  Still,  Arabs  were  subtle,  and  Si  Maieddine  might  have 
wanted  to  test  her  courage.  Looking  back  upon  those  long 
hours,  now;  towards  evening  of  the  third  day,  it  seemed  to  Vic- 
toria that  she  had  been  travelling  for  a  week  in  the  swaying, 
curtained  carriage,  with  the  slow-trotting  mules. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  221 

Just  at  first,  there  had  been  some  fine  scenery  to  hold  her 
interest;  far-off  mountains  of  grim  shapes,  dark  as  iron,  and 
spotted  with  snow  as  a  leper  is  spotted  with  scales.  Then 
had  come  low  hills,  following  the  mountains  (nameless  to  her, 
because  Mai'eddine  had  not  cared  to  name  them) ,  and  blue  lakes 
of  iris  flowing  over  wide  plains.  But  by  and  by  the  plains 
flattened  to  dullness ;  a  hot  wind  ceaselessly  flapped  the  canvas 
curtains,  and  Leila  M'Barka  sighed  and  moaned  with  the 
fatigue  of  constant  motion.  There  was  nothing  but  plain, 
endless  plain,  and  Victoria  had  been  glad,  for  her  own  sake  as 
well  as  the  invalid's,  when  night  followed  the  first  day.  They  had 
stopped  on  the  outskirts  of  a  large  town,  partly  French,  partly 
Arab,  passing  through  and  on  to  the  house  of  a  caid  who 
was  a  friend  of  Si  Mai'eddine's.  It  was  a  primitively  simple 
house,  even  humble,  it  seemed  to  the  girl,  who  had  as  yet  no 
conception  of  the  bareness  and  lack  of  comfort  —  according 
to  Western  ideas  —  of  Arab  country-houses.  Nevertheless, 
when,  after  another  tedious  day,  they  rested  under  the  roof 
of  a  village  adel,  an  official  below  a  caid,  the  first  house 
seemed  luxurious  in  contrast.  During  this  last,  third  day,  Vic- 
toria had  been  eager  and  excited,  because  of  the  desert,  through 
one  gate  of  which  they  had  entered.  She  felt  that  once  in  the 
desert  she  was  so  close  to  Saidee  in  spirit  that  they  might  al- 
most hear  the  beating  of  each  other's  hearts,  but  she  had  not 
expected  to  be  near  her  sister  in  body  for  many  such  days  to 
come:  and  the  wave  of  joy  that  surged  over  her  soul  as  the 
horses  turned  up  the  golden  hill  towards  the  white  towers, 
was  suffocating  in  its  force. 

The  nearer  they  came,  the  less  impressive  seemed  the  build- 
ing. After  all,  it  was  not  the  great  Arab  stronghold  it  had 
looked  from  far  away,  but  a  fortified  farmhouse  a  century  old, 
at  most.  Climbing  the  hill,  too,  Victoria  saw  that  the  golden 
colour  was  partly  due  to  a  monstrous  swarm  of  ochre-hued 
locusts,  large  as  young  canary  birds,  which  had  settled,  thick 
as  yellow  snow,  over  the  ground.  They  were  resting  after  a 


222  THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE 

long  flight,  and  there  were  millions  and  millions  of  them,  cover- 
ing the  earth  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
Only  a  few  were  on  the  wing,  but  as  the  carriage  stopped  before 
the  closed  gates,  fat  yellow  bodies  came  blundering  against 
the  canvas  curtains,  or  fell  plumply  against  the  blinkers  over 
the  mules'  eyes. 

Si  Maieddine  got  down  from  the  carriage,  and  shouted,  with 
a  peculiar  call.  There  was  no  answering  sound,  but  after  a 
wait  of  two  or  three  minutes  the  double  gates  of  thick,  greyish 
palm-wood  were  pulled  open  from  inside,  with  a  loud  creak. 
For  a  moment  the  brown  face  of  an  old  man,  wrinkled  as  a 
monkey's,  looked  out  between  the  gates,  which  he  held  ajar; 
then,  with  a  guttural  cry,  he  threw  both  as  far  back  as  he  could, 
and  rushing  out,  bent  his  white  turban  over  Mai'eddine's  hand. 
He  kissed  the  Sidi's  shoulder,  and  a  fold  of  his  burnous,  half 
kneeling,  and  chattering  Arabic,  only  a  word  of  which  Victoria 
could  catch  here  and  there.  As  he  chattered,  other  men  came 
running  out,  some  of  them  Negroes,  all  very  dark,  and  they  vied 
with  one  another  in  humble  kissing  of  the  master's  person, 
at  any  spot  convenient  to  their  lips. 

Politely,  though  not  too  eagerly,  he  made  the  gracious  return 
of  seeming  to  kiss  the  back  of  his  own  hand,  or  his  fingers,  where 
they  had  been  touched  by  the  welcoming  mouths,  but  in  reality 
he  kissed  air.  With  a  gesture,  he  stopped  the  salutations  at 
last,  and  asked  for  the  Cai'd,  to  whom,  he  said,  he  had  written, 
sending  his  letter  by  the  diligence. 

Then  there  were  passionate  jabberings  of  regret.  The  Ca'id, 
was  away,  had  been  away  for  days,  fighting  the  locusts  on  his 
other  farm,  west  of  Aumale,  where  there  was  grain  to  save. 
But  the  letter  had  arrived,  and  had  been  sent  after  him,  imme- 
diately, by  a  man  on  horseback.  This  evening  he  would 
certainly  return  to  welcome  his  honoured  guest.  The  word 
was  "guest,"  not  "guests,"  and  Victoria  understood  that  she 
and  Leila  M'Barka  would  not  see  the  master  of  the  house.  So 
it  had  been  at  the  other  two  houses :  so  in  all  probability  it  would 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  823 

be  at  every  house  along  their  way  unless,  as  she  still  hoped, 
they  had  already  come  to  the  end  of  the  journey. 

The  wide  open  gates  showed  a  large,  bare  courtyard,  the 
farmhouse,  which  was  built  round  it,  being  itself  the  wall.  On 
the  outside,  no  windows  were  visible  except  those  in  the  towers, 
and  a  few  tiny  square  apertures  for  ventilation,  but  the  yard 
was  overlooked  by  a  number  of  small  glass  eyes,  all  curtained. 

As  the  carriage  was  driven  in,  large  yellow  dogs  gathered 
round  it,  barking;  but  the  men  kicked  them  away,  and  busied 
themselves  in  chasing  the  animals  off  to  a  shed,  their  white-clad 
backs  all  religiously  turned  as  Si  Maieddine  helped  the  ladies 
to  descend.  Behind  a  closed  window  a  curtain  was  shaking; 
and  M'Barka  had  not  yet  touched  her  feet  to  the  ground  when 
a  negress  ran  out  of  a  door  that  opened  in  the  same  distant 
corner  of  the  house.  She  was  unveiled,  like  Leila  M'Barka's 
servants  in  Algiers,  and,  with  Fafann,  she  almost  carried  the 
tired  invalid  towards  the  open  door.  Victoria  followed,  quiver- 
ing with  suspense.  What  waited  for  her  behind  that  door? 
Would  she  see  Saidee,  after  all  these  years  of  separation? 

"I  think  I'm  dying,"  moaned  Leila  M'Barka.  "They  will 
never  take  me  away  from  this  house  alive.  White  Rose,  where 
art  thou  ?  I  need  thy  hand  under  my  arm." 

Victoria  tried  to  think  only  of  M'Barka,  and  to  wait  with 
patience  for  the  supreme  moment  —  if  it  were  to  come.  Even 
if  she  had  wished  it,  she  could  not  have  asked  questions  now. 


XXIV 

IT  WAS  midnight  when  Nevill's  car  ran  into  the  beautiful 
oasis  town,  guarded  by  the  most  curious  mountains 
of  the  Algerian  desert,  and  they  were  at  their  strangest, 
cut  out  clear  as  the  painted  mountains  of  stage  scenery, 
in  the  light  of  the  great  acetylene  lamps.  Stephen  thought 
them  like  a  vast,  half-burned  Moorish  city  of  mosques  and 
palaces,  over  which  sand-storms  had  raged  for  centuries,  leav- 
ing only  traces  here  and  there  of  a  ruined  tower,  a  domed  roof, 
or  an  ornamental  frieze. 

Of  the  palms  he  could  see  nothing,  except  the  long,  dark 
shape  of  the  oasis  among  the  pale  sand-billows;  but  early  next 
morning  he  and  Nevill  were  up  and  out  on  the  roof  of  the  little 
French  hotel,  while  sunrise  banners  marched  across  the  sky. 
Stephen  had  not  known  tint  desert  dunes  could  be  bright 
peach-pink,  or  that  a  river  flowing  over  white  stones  could  look 
like  melted  rubies,  or  that  a  few  laughing  Arab  girls,  ankle- 
deep  in  limpid  water,  could  glitter  in  morning  light  like  jewelled 
houris  in  celestial  gardens.  But  now  that  he  knew,  he  would 
never  forget  his  first  desert  picture. 

The  two  men  stood  on  the  roof  among  the  bubbly  domes 
for  a  long  time,  looking  over  the  umber-coloured  town  and 
the  flowing  oasis  which  swept  to  Bou-Saada's  brown  feet  like 
a  tidal  wave.  It  was  not  yet  time  to  go  and  ask  questions 
of  the  Caid,  whom  Nevill  knew. 

Stephen  was  advised  not  to  drink  coffee  in  the  hotel  before 
starting  on  their  quest.  "We  shall  have  to  swallow  at  least 
three  cups  each  of  cafe  maure  at  the  Caid's  house,  and  per- 
haps a  dash  of  tea  flavoured  with  mint,  on  top  of  all,  if  we  don't 

224 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  935 

want  to  begin  by  hurting  our  host's  feelings,"  Nevill  said.  So 
they  fasted,  and  fed  their  minds  by  walking  through  Bou- 
Saada  in  its  first  morning  glory.  Already  the  old  part  of  the 
town  was  alive,  for  Arabs  love  the  day  when  it  is  young,  even  as 
they  love  a  young  girl  for  a  bride. 

The  Englishmen  strolled  into  the  cool,  dark  mosque,  where 
heavy  Eastern  scents  of  musk  and  benzoin  had  lain  all  night 
like  fugitives  in  sanctuary,  and  where  the  roof  was  held  up 
by  cypress  poles  instead  of  marble  pillars,  as  in  the  grand 
mosques  of  big  cities.  By  the  time  they  were  ready  to  leave, 
dawn  had  become  daylight,  and  coming  out  of  the  brown  dusk, 
the  town  seemed  flooded  with  golden  wine,  wonderful,  bub- 
bling, unbelievable  gold,  with  scarlet  and  purple  and  green 
figures  floating  in  it,  brilliant  as  rainbow  fish. 

The  Caid  lived  near  the  old  town,  in  an  adobe  house,  with 
a  garden  which  was  a  tangle  of  roses  and  pomegranate  blossoms, 
under  orange  trees  and  palms.  And  there  were  narrow  paths 
of  hard  sand,  the  colour  of  old  gold,  which  rounded  up  to  the 
centre,  and  had  little  runnels  of  water  on  either  side.  The  sun- 
shine dripped  between  the  long  fingers  of  the  palm  leaves, 
to  trail  in  a  lacy  pattern  along  the  yellow  paths,  and  the  sound 
of  the  running  water  was  sweet. 

It  was  in  this  garden  that  the  Caid  gave  his  guests  the  three 
cups  of  coffee  each,  followed  by  the  mint-flavoured  tea  which 
Nevill  had  prophesied.  And  when  they  had  admired  a  tame 
gazelle  which  nibbled  cakes  of  almond  and  honey  from  their 
hands,  the  Caid  insisted  on  presenting  it  to  his  good  friend,. 
Monsieur  Caird. 

Over  the  cups  of  cafe  maure,  they  talked  of  Captain  Cassim 
ben  Halim,  but  their  host  could  or  would  tell  them  nothing 
beyond  the  fact  that  Ben  Halim  had  once  lived  for  a  little 
while  not  far  from  Bou-Saada.  He  had  inherited  from  his 
father  a  country  house,  about  fifty  kilometres  distant,  but  he  had 
neTryxr  stayed  there  until  after  retiring  from  the  army,  and 
selling  his  place  in  Algiers.  Then  he  had  spent  a  few  montha 


226  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

in  the  country.  The  Caid  had  met  him  long  ago  in  Algiers, 
but  had  not  seen  him  since.  Ben  Halim  had  been  ill,  and  had 
led  a  retired  life  in  the  country,  receiving  no  one.  Afterward 
he  had  gone  away,  out  of  Algeria.  It  was  said  that  he  had 
died  abroad  a  little  later.  Of  that,  the  Caid  was  not  certain; 
but  in  any  case  the  house  on  the  hill  was  now  in  the  possession 
of  the  Caid  of  Ain  Dehdra,  Sidi  Elaid  ben  Sliman,  a  distant 
cousin  of  Ben  Halim,  said  to  be  his  only  living  relative. 

Then  their  host  went  on  to  describe  the  house  with  the  white 
wall,  which  looked  down  upon  a  cemetery  and  a  village.  His 
description  was  almost  precisely  what  Mouni's  had  been,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  that  the  place  where  she  had  lived  with  the 
beautiful  lady  was  the  place  of  which  he  spoke.  But  of  the 
lady  herself  they  could  learn  nothing.  The  Caid  had  no  infor- 
mation to  give  concerning  Ben  Halim's  family. 

He  pressed  them  to  stay,  and  see  all  the  beauties  of  the  oasis. 
He  would  introduce  them  to  the  marabout  at  El  Hamel,  and 
in  the  evening  they  should  see  a  special  dance  of  the  Ouled 
Nails.  But  they  made  excuses  that  they  must  get  on,  and  bade 
the  Ca'id  good-bye  after  an  hour's  talk.  As  for  the  gazelle 
appravoisee,  Nevill  named  her  Josette,  and  hired  an  Arab 
to  take  her  to  Algiers  by  the  diligence,  with  explicit  instructions 
as  to  food  and  milk. 

Swarms  of  locusts  flew  into  their  faces,  and  fell  into  the 
car,  or  were  burned  to  death  in  the  radiator,  as  they  sped  along 
the  road  towards  the  white  house  on  the  golden  hill.  They 
started  from  Bou-Saada  at  ten  o'clock,  and  though  the  road  was 
far  from  good,  and  they  were  not  always  sure  of  the  way,  the 
noon  heat  was  scarcely  at  its  height  when  Stephen  said:  "There 
it  is!  That  must  be  the  hill  and  the  white  wall  with  the  towers." 

"Yes,  there's  the  cemetery  too,"  answered  Nevill.  "We're 
seeing  it  on  our  left  side,  as  we  go,  I  hope  that  doesn't  mean 
we're  in  for  bad  luck." 

"Rot!"  said  Stephen,  promptly.  Yet  for  all  his  scorn  of 
Nevill's  grotesque  superstitions,  he  was  not  in  a  confident 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  227 

mood.  He  did  not  expect  much  good  from  this  visit  to  Ben 
Halim's  old  country  house.  And  the  worst  was,  that  here 
seemed  their  last  chance  of  finding  out  what  had  become  of 
Saidee  Ray,  if  not  of  her  sister. 

The  sound  of  the  motor  made  a  brown  face  flash  over  the 
top  of  the  tall  gate,  like  a  Jack  popping  out  of  his  box. 

"la  Sidi,  el  Caid?"  asked  Nevill.     "Is  he  at  home?" 

The  face  pretended  not  to  understand;  and  having  taken  in 
every  detail  of  the  strangers'  appearance  and  belongings,  in- 
cluding the  motor-car,  it  disappeared. 

"What's  going  to  happen  now?"    Stephen  wanted  to  know. 

Nevill  looked  puzzled.  "The  creature  isn't  too  polite. 
Probably  it's  afraid  of  Roumis,  and  has  never  been  spoken  to 
by  one  before.  But  I  hope  it  will  promptly  scuttle  indoors 
and  fetch  its  master,  or  some  one  with  brains  and  manners." 

Several  minutes  passed,  and  the  yellow  motor-car  con- 
tinued to  advertise  its  presence  outside  the  Caiid's  gate  by 
panting  strenuously.  The  face  did  not  show  itself  again;  and 
there  was  no  evidence  of  life  behind  the  white  wall,  except  the 
peculiarly  ominous  yelping  of  Kabyle  dogs. 

"Let's  pound  on  the  gate,  and  show  them  we  mean  to  get 
in,"  said  Stephen,  angry-eyed. 

But  Nevill  counselled  waiting.  "Never  be  in  a  hurry  when 
you  have  to  do  with  Arabs.  It's  patience  that  pays." 

"Here  come  two  chaps  on  horseback,"  Stephen  said,  looking 
down  at  the  desert  track  that  trailed  near  the  distant  cluster 
of  mud  houses,  which  were  like  square  blocks  of  gold  in  the 
fierce  sunshine.  "They  seem  to  be  staring  up  at  the  car. 
I  wonder  if  they're  on  their  way  here!" 

"It  may  be  the  Caid,  riding  home  with  a  friend,  or  a  servant," 
Nevill  suggested.  "If  so,  I'll  bet  my  hat  there  are  other  eyes 
than  ours  watching  for  him,  peering  out  through  some  spy-hole 
in  one  of  the  gate-towers." 

His  guess  was  right.  It  was  the  Caid  coming  home,  and 
Mai'eddine  was  with  him;  for  Leila  M'Barka  had  been  obliged 


228  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

to  rest  for  three  days  at  the  farmhouse  on  the  hill,  and  the 
Caid's  guest  had  accompanied  him  before  sunrise  this  morning 
to  see  a  favourite  white  mehari,  or  racing  camel,  belonging  to 
Sidi  Elai'd  ben  Sliman,  which  was  very  ill,  in  care  of  a  wise  man 
of  the  village.  Now  the  mehari  was  dead,  and  as  Maieddine 
seemed  impatient  to  get  back,  they  were  riding  home,  in  spite 
of  the  noon  heat. 

Maieddine  had  left  the  house  reluctantly  this  morning. 
Not  that  he  could  often  see  Victoria,  who  was  nursing  M'Barka, 
and  looking  so  wistful  that  he  guessed  she  had  half  hoped  to 
find  her  sister  waiting  behind  the  white  wall  on  the  golden  hill. 

Though  he  could  expect  little  of  the  girl's  society,  and  there 
was  little  reason  to  fear  that  harm  would  come  to  her,  or  that 
she  would  steal  away  in  his  absence ,  still  he  had  hated  to  ride 
out  of  the  gate  and  leave  her.  If  the  Caid  had  not  made 
a  point  of  his  coming,  he  would  gladly  have  stayed  behind. 
Now,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  a  yellow  motor-car  at  the  gate, 
he  believed  that  his  feeling  had  been  a  presentiment,  a  warning 
of  evil,  which  he  ought  so  have  heeded. 

He  and  the  Caid  were  a  long  way  off  when  he  caught  sight  of 
the  car,  and  heard  its  pantings,  carried  by  the  clear  desert  air. 
He  could  not  be  certain  of  its  identity,  but  he  prided  himself 
upon  his  keen  sight  and  hearing,  and  where  they  failed,  instinct 
stepped  in.  He  was  sure  that  it  was  the  car  which  had  waited 
for  Stephen  Knight  when  the  Charles  Quex  came  in,  the  car 
of  Nevill  Caird,  about  whom  he  had  made  inquiries  before 
leaving  Algiers.  Maieddine  knew,  of  course,  that  Victoria 
had  been  to  the  Djenan  el  Djouad,  and  he  was  intensely  sus- 
picious as  well  as  jealous  of  Knight,  because  of  the  letter  Vic- 
toria had  written.  He  knew  also  that  the  two  Englishmen  had 
been  asking  questions  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Kasbah;  and  he  was 
not  surprised  to  see  the  yellow  car  in  front  of  the  Caid's  gates. 
Now  that  he  saw  it,  he  felt  dully  that  he  had  always  known  it 
would  follow  him. 

If  only  he  had  been  in  the  house,  it  would  not  have  mattered. 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  229 

He  would  have  been  able  to  prevent  Knight  and  Caird  from 
seeing  Victoria,  or  even  from  having  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
she  was,  or  had  been,  there.  It  was  the  worst  of  luck  that  he 
should  be  outside  the  gates,  for  now  he  could  not  go  back  while 
the  Englishmen  were  there.  Knight  would  certainly  recognize 
him,  and  guess  everything  that  he  did  not  know. 

Maieddine  thought  very  quickly.  He  dared  not  ride  on,  lest 
the  men  in  the  car  should  have  a  field-glass.  The  only  thing 
was  to  let  Ben  Sliman  go  alone,  so  that,  if  eyes  up  there  on  the 
hill  were  watching,  it  might  seem  that  the  Caid  was  parting 
from  some  friend  who  lived  in  the  village.  He  would  have 
to  trust  Elald's  discretion  and  tact,  as  he  knew  already  he  might 
trust  his  loyalty.  Only  —  the  situation  was  desperate.  Tact, 
and  an  instinct  for  the  right  word,  the  frank  look,  were  worth 
even  more  than  loyalty  at  this  moment.  And  one  never  quite 
knew  how  far  to  trust  another  man's  judgment.  Besides,  the 
mischief  might  have  been  done  before  Ben  Sliman  could  arrive 
on  the  scene;  and  at  the  thought  of  what  might  happen,  Maied- 
dine's  heart  seemed  to  turn  in  his  breast.  He  had  never  known 
a  sensation  so  painful  to  body  and  mind,  and  it  was  hideous  to 
feel  helpless,  to  know  that  he  could  do  only  harm,  and  not 
good,  by  riding  up  the  hill.  Nevertheless,  he  said  to  himself, 
if  he  should  see  Victoria  come  out  to  speak  with  these  men, 
he  would  go.  He  would  perhaps  kill  them,  and  the  chauffeur 
too.  Anything  rather  than  give  up  the  girl  now;  for  the  sharp 
stab  of  the  thought  that  he  might  lose  her,  that  Stephen  Knight 
might  have  her,  made  him  ten  times  more  in  love  than  he  had 
been  before.  He  wished  that  Allah  might  strike  the  men  in  the 
yellow  car  dead;  although,  ardent  Mussulman  as  he  was,  he 
had  no  hope  that  such  a  glorious  miracle  would  happen. 

"It  is  those  men  from  Algiers  of  whom  I  told  thee,"  he 
said  to  the  Caid.  "I  must  stop  below.  They  must  not  recog- 
nize me,  or  the  dark  one  who  was  on  the  ship,  will  guess. 
Possibly  he  suspects  already  that  I  stand  for  something  in  this 
affair." 


230  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Who  can  have  sent  them  to  my  house?"  Ben  Sliman  won- 
dered. The  two  drew  in  their  horses  and  put  on  the  manner 
of  men  about  to  bid  each  other  good-bye. 

"I  hope,  I  am  almost  sure,  that  they  know  nothing  of  her,  or 
of  me.  Probably,  when  inquiring  about  Ben  Halim,  in  order 
to  hear  of  her  sister,  and  so  find  out  where  she  has  gone,  they 
learned  only  that  Ben  Halim  once  lived  here.  If  thy  servants 
are  discreet,  it  may  be  that  no  harm  will  come  from  this  visit." 

"They  will  be  discreet.  Have  no  fear,"  the  Ca'id  assured  him. 
Yet  it  was  on  his  tongue  to  say;  "the  lady  herself,  when  she 
hears  the  sound  of  the  car,  may  do  some  unwise  thing."  But 
he  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Even  though  the  young  girl  — 
whom  he  had  not  seen  —  was  a  Roumia,  obsessed  with  hor- 
rible, modern  ideas,  which  at  present  it  would  be  dangerous 
to  try  and  correct,  he  could  not  discuss  her  with  Ma'ieddine. 
If  she  showed  herself  to  the  men,  it  could  not  be  helped.  What 
was  to  be,  would  be.  Mektub! 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  distrust  my  friend's  servants,"  said 
Mai'eddine;  "but  if  in  their  zeal  they  go  too  far  and  give  an 
impression  of  something  to  hide,  it  would  be  as  bad  as  if  they 
let  drop  a  word  too  many." 

"I  will  ride  on  and  break  any  such  impression  if  it  has 
been  made,"  Ben  Sliman  consoled  him.  "Trust  me.  I  will 
be  as  gracious  to  these  Roumis  as  if  they  were  true  believers." 

"I  do  trust  thee  completely,"  answered  the  younger  man. 
"While  they  are  at  thy  gates,  or  within  them,  I  must  wait 
with  patience.  I  cannot  remain  here  in  the  open  —  yet  I  wish 
to  be  within  sight,  that  I  may  see  with  my  own  eyes  all  that 
happens.  What  if  I  ride  to  one  of  the  black  tents,  and  ask  for 
water  to  wash  the  mouth  of  my  horse  ?  If  they  have  it  not,  it  is 
no  matter." 

"Thine  is  a  good  thought,"  said  Ben  Sliman,  and  rode  on, 
putting  his  slim  white  Arab  horse  to  a  trot. 

To  the  left  from  the  group  of  adobe  houses,  and  at  about  the 
same  distance  from  the  rough  track  on  which  they  had  been 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  231 

riding,  was  a  cluster  of  nomad  tents,  like  giant  bats  with  torpid 
wings  spread  out  ink-black  on  the  gold  of  the  desert.  A  little 
farther  off  was  another  small  encampment  of  a  different  tribe; 
and  their  tents  were  brown,  striped  with  black  and  yellow. 
They  looked  like  huge  butterflies  resting.  But  Maieddine 
thought  of  no  such  similes.  He  was  a  child  of  the  Sahara, 
and  used  to  the  tents  and  the  tent-dwellers.  His  own  father, 
the  Agha,  lived  half  the  year  in  a  great  tent,  when  he  was  with 
his  douar,  and  Maieddine  had  been  born  under  the  roof  of 
camel's  hair.  His  own  people  and  these  people  were  not  kin, 
and  their  lives  lay  far  apart;  yet  a  man  of  one  nomad  tribe 
understands  all  nomads,  though  he  be  a  chief's  son,  and  they 
as  poor  as  their  own  ill-fed  camels.  His  pride  was  his  nomad 
blood,  for  all  men  of  the  Sahara,  be  they  princes  or  camel- 
drivers,  look  with  scorn  upon  the  sedentary  people,  those  of  the 
great  plain  of  the  Tell,  and  fat  eaters  of  ripe  dates  in  the 
cities. 

The  eight  or  ten  black  tents  were  gathered  round  one,  a 
little  higher,  a  little  less  ragged  than  the  others — the  tent  of  the 
Kebir,  or  headman;  but  it  was  humble  enough.  There  would 
have  been  room  and  to  spare  for  a  dozen  such  under  the  tente 
sultane  of  the  Agha,  at  his  douar  south  of  El  Aghouat. 

As  Maieddine  rode  up,  a  buzz  of  excitement  rose  in  the 
hive.  Some  one  ran  to  tell  the  Kebir  that  a  great  Sidi  was  arriv- 
ing, and  the  headman  came  out  from  his  tent,  where  he  had 
been  meditating  or  dozing  after  the  chanting  of  the  midday 
prayer  —  the  prayer  of  noon. 

He  was  a  thin,  elderly  man,  with  an  eagle  eye  to  awe  his 
women-folk,  and  an  old  burnous  of  sheep's  wool,  which  was 
of  a  deep  cream  colour  because  it  had  not  been  washed  for 
many  years.  Yet  he  smelt  good,  with  a  smell  that  was  like 
the  desert,  and  there  was  no  foul  odour  in  the  miniature  douar, 
as  in  European  dwellings  of  the  very  poor.  There  is  never 
a  smell  of  uncleanliness  about  Arabs,  even  those  people  who 
must  perform  most  of  the  ablutions  prescribed  by  their  religion 


232  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

with  sand  instead  of  water.  But  the  Saharian  saying  is  that 
the  desert  purifies  all  things. 

The  Kebir  was  polite  though  not  servile  to  Maieddine,  and 
while  the  horse  borrowed  from  the  Caid  was  having  its  face 
economically  sprinkled  with  water  from  a  brown  goat-skin, 
black  coffee  was  being  hospitably  prepared  for  the  guest  by  the 
women  of  the  household,  unveiled  of  course,  as  are  all  women 
of  the  nomad  tribes,  except  those  of  highest  birth. 

Maieddine  did  not  want  the  coffee,  but  it  would  have  been 
an  insult  to  refuse,  and  he  made  laboured  conversation  with 
the  Kebir,  his  eyes  and  thoughts  fixed  on  the  Cai'd's  gate  and 
the  yellow  motor-car.  He  hardly  saw  the  tents,  beneath  whose 
low-spread  black  wings  eyes  looked  out  at  him,  as  the  bright 
eyes  of  chickens  look  out  from  under  the  mother-hen's  feathers. 
They  were  all  much  alike,  though  the  Kebir's,  as  befitted  his 
position,  was  the  best,  made  of  wide  strips  of  black  woollen 
material  stitched  together,  spread  tightly  over  stout  poles, 
and  pegged  down  into  the  hard  sand.  There  was  a  partition 
dividing  the  tent  in  two,  a  partition  made  of  one  or  two  old 
ha'icks,  woven  by  hand,  and  if  MaSeddine  had  been  interested, 
he  could  have  seen  his  host's  bedding  arranged  for  the  day;  a 
few  coarse  rugs  and  frechias  piled  up  carelessly,  out  of  the  way. 
There  was  a  bale  of  camels'  hair,  ready  for  weaving,  and  on 
top  of  it  a  little  boy  was  curled  up  asleep.  From  the  tent- 
poles  hung  an  animal's  skin,  drying,  and  a  cradle  of  netted 
cords  in  which  swung  and  slept  a  swaddled  baby  no  bigger 
than  a  doll.  It  was  a  girl,  therefore  its  eyes  were  blackened 
with  kohl,  and  its  eyebrows  neatly  sketched  on  with  paint,  as 
they  had  been  since  the  unfortunate  day  of  its  birth,  when  the 
father  grumbled  because  it  was  not  a  "child,"  but  only  a 
worthless  female. 

The  mother  of  the  four  weeks'  old  doll,  a  fine  young  woman 
tinkling  with  Arab  silver,  left  her  carpet-weaving  to  grind  the 
coffee,  while  her  withered  mother-in-law  brightened  with 
brushwood  the  smouldering  fire  of  camel-dung.  The  women 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  233 

worked  silently,  humbly,  though  they  would  have  been  chat- 
tering if  the  great  Sidi  stranger  had  not  been  there;  but  two 
or  three  little  children  in  orange  and  scarlet  rags  played  gig- 
gling among  the  rubbish  outside  the  tent — a  broken  bassour- 
frame,  or  palanquin,  waiting  to  be  mended;  date  boxes, 
baskets,  and  wooden  plates;  old  kous-kous  bowls,  bundles  of 
alfa  grass,  chicken  feathers,  and  an  infant  goat  with  its  mother. 

The  sound  of  children's  shrill  laughter,  which  passed  un- 
noticed by  the  parents,  who  had  it  always  in  their  ears,  rasped 
Maieddine's  nerves,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  strike  or  kick 
the  babies  into  silence.  Most  Arabs  worship  children,  even  girls, 
and  are  invariably  kind  to  them,  but  to-day  Maleddine  hated 
anything  that  ran  about  disturbingly  and  made  a  noise. 

Now  the  Caid  had  reached  the  gate,  and  was  talking  to  the 
men  in  the  motor-car.  Would  he  send  them  away?  No,  the 
gate  was  being  opened  by  a  servant.  Ben  Sliman  must  have 
invited  the  Roumis  in.  Possibly  it  was  a  wise  thing  to  do,  yet 
how  dangerous,  how  terribly  dangerous,  with  Victoria  perhaps 
peeping  from  one  of  the  tiny  windows  at  the  women's  corner 
of  the  house,  which  looked  on  the  court!  They  could  not  see 
her  there,  but  she  could  see  them,  and  if  she  were  tired  of  trav- 
elling and  dancing  attendance  on  a  fidgety  invalid  —  if  she 
repented  her  promise  to  keep  the  secret  of  this  journey  ? 

Maieddine's  experience  of  women  inclined  him  to  think  that 
they  always  did  forget  their  promises  to  a  man  the  moment  his 
back  was  turned.  Victoria  was  different  from  the  women  of 
his  race,  or  those  he  had  met  in  Paris,  yet  she  was,  after  all, 
a  woman;  and  there  was  no  truer  saying  than  that  you  might 
more  easily  prophesy  the  direction  of  the  wind  than  say  what 
a  woman  was  likely  to  do.  The  coffee  which  the  Kebir  handed 
him  made  him  feel  sick,  as  if  he  had  had  a  touch  of  the  sun. 
What  was  happening  up  there  on  the  hill,  behind  the  gates 
which  stood  half  open  ?  What  would  she  do  —  his  Rose  of  the 
West  ? 


XXV 

IT  WAS  a  relief  to  Stephen  and  Nevill  to  see  one  of  the 
horsemen  coming  up  the  rough  hill-track  to  the  gate, 
and  to  think  that  they  need  no  longer  wait  upon  the 
fears  or  inhospitable  whims  of  the  Arab  servants  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall. 

As  soon  as  the  rider  came  near  enough  for  his  features 
to  be  sketched  in  clearly,  Nevill  remembered  having  noticed 
him  at  one  or  two  of  the  Governor's  balls,  where  all  Arab 
dignitaries,  even  such  lesser  lights  as  cai'ds  and  adels  show 
themselves.  But  they  had  never  met.  The  man  was  not  one 
of  the  southern  chiefs  whom  Nevill  Caird  had  entertained 
at  his  own  house. 

Stephen  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  personable 
man  as  the  Caid  rode  up  to  the  car,  saluting  courteously 
though  with  no  great  warmth. 

His  face  was  more  tanned  than  very  dark  by  nature,  but  it 
seemed  brown  in  contrast  to  his  light  hazel  eyes.  His  features 
were  commanding,  if  not  handsome,  and  he  sat  his  horse  well. 
Altogether  he  was  a  notable  figure  in  his  immensely  tall 
white  turban,  wound  with  pale  grey-brown  camel's-hair  rope, 
his  grey  cloth  burnous,  embroidered  with  gold,  flung  back  over 
an  inner  white  burnous,  his  high  black  boots,  with  wrinkled 
brown  tops,  and  his  wonderful  Kairouan  hat  of  light  straw, 
embroidered  with  a  leather  applique  of  coloured  flowers  and 
silver  leaves,  steeple-crowned,  and  as  big  as  a  cart-wheel,  hang- 
ing on  his  shoulders. 

He  and  Nevill  politely  wished  the  blessings  of  Allah  and 
Mohammed  his  Prophet  upon  each  other,  and  Nevill  then 

234 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  235 

explained  the  errand  which  had  brought  him  and  his  friend  to 
the  Caid's  house. 

The  Caid's  somewhat  heavy  though  intelligent  face  did  not 
easily  show  surprise.  It  changed  not  at  all,  though  Stephen 
watched  it  closely. 

"Thou  art  welcome  to  hear  all  I  can  tell  of  my  dead  relation, 
Ben  Halim,"  he  said.  "But  I  know  little  that  everybody  does 
not  know." 

"It  is  certain,  then,  that  Ben  Halim  is  dead  ?"  asked  Nevill. 
"  We  had  hoped  that  rumour  lied." 

"He  died  on  his,  way  home  after  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca," 
gravely  replied  the  Ca'id. 

"Ah!"  Nevill  caught  him  up  quickly.  "We  heard  that  it 
was  in  Constantinople." 

Ben  Sliman's  expression  was  slightly  strained.  He  glanced 
from  Neville's  boyish  face  to  Stephen's  dark,  keen  one,  and 
perhaps  fancied  suspicion  in  both.  If  he  had  intended  to  let 
the  Englishmen  drive  away  in  their  motor-car  without  seeing 
the  other  side  of  his  white  wall,  he  now  changed  his  mind.  "If 
thou  and  thy  friend  care  to  honour  this  poor  farm  of  mine 
by  entering  the  gates,  and  drinking  coffee  with  me,"  he  said, 
"  We  will  afterwards  go  down  below  the  hill  to  the  cemetery 
where  my  cousin's  body  lies  buried.  His  tombstone  will 
show  that  he  was  El  Had  j,  and  that  he  had  reached  Mecca. 
When  he  was  in  Constantinople,  he  had  just  returned  from 
there." 

Possibly,  having  given  the  invitation  by  way  of  proving  that 
there  was  nothing  to  conceal,  Ben  Sliman  hoped  it  would  not  be 
accepted;  but  he  was  disappointed.  Before  the  Cai'd  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  Nevill  had  told  his  chauffeur  to  stop 
the  motor,  therefore  the  restless  panting  had  long  ago  ceased, 
and  when  Ben  Sliman  looked  doubtfully  at  the  car,  as  if  won- 
dering how  it  was  to  be  got  in  without  doing  damage  to  his  wall, 
Neville  said  that  the  automobile  might  stay  where  it  was.  Their 
visit  would  not  be  long. 


236  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"But  the  longer  the  better,"  replied  the  Caid.  "When  I 
have  guests,  it  pains  me  to  see  them  go." 

He  shouted  a  word  or  two  in  Arabic,  and  instantly  the  gates 
were  opened.  The  sketchily  clad  brown  men  inside  had  only 
been  waiting  for  a  signal. 

"I  regret  that  I  cannot  ask  my  visitors  into  the  house  itself , 
as  I  have  illness  there,"  Ben  Sliman  announced;  "but  we  have 
guest  rooms  here  in  the  gate-towers.  They  are  not  what  I 
could  wish  for  such  distinguished  personages,  but  thou  canst  see, 
Sidi,  thou  and  thy  friend,  that  this  is  a  simple  farmhouse.  We 
make  no  pretension  to  the  luxury  of  towns,  but  we  do  what 
we  can." 

As  he  spoke,  the  brown  men  were  scuttling  about,  one  unfas- 
tening the  door  of  a  little  tower,  which  stuck  as  if  it  had  not 
been  opened  for  a  long  time,  another  darting  into  the  house, 
which  appeared  silent  and  tenantless,  a  third  and  fourth  running 
to  a  more  distant  part,  and  vanishing  also  through  a  dark 
doorway. 

The  Caid  quickly  ushered  his  guests  into  the  tower  room, 
but  not  so  quickly  that  the  eyes  of  a  girl,  looking  through  a 
screened  window,  did  not  see  and  recognize  both.  The  ser- 
vant who  had  gone  ahead  unbarred  a  pair  of  wooden  shutters 
high  up  in  the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  tower,  which  was 
stiflingly  close,  with  a  musty,  animal  odour.  As  the  opening 
of  the  shutters  gave  light,  enormous  black-beetles  which  seemed 
to  Stephen  as  large  as  pigeon's  eggs,  crawled  out  from  cracks 
between  wall  and  floor,  stumbling  awkwardly  about,  and  fall- 
ing over  each  other.  It  was  a  disgusting  sight,  and  did  not 
increase  the  visitors'  desire  to  accept  the  Caid's  hospitality  for 
any  length  of  time.  It  may  be  that  he  had  thought  of  this. 
But  even  if  he  had,  the  servants  were  genuinely  enthusiastic  in 
their  efforts  to  make  the  Roumis  at  home.  The  two  who1  had 
run  farthest  returned  soonest.  They  staggered  under  a  load 
of  large  rugs  wrapped  in  unbleached  sheeting,  and  a  great 
sack  stuffed  full  of  cushions  which  bulged  out  at  the  top.  The 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  237 

sheeting  they  unfastened,  and,  taking  no  notice  of  the  beetles, 
hurriedly  spread  on  the  rough  floor  several  beautifully  woven 
rugs  of  bright  colours.  Then,  having  laid  four  or  five  on  top 
of  one  another,  they  clawed  the  cushions  out  of  the  sack,  and 
placed  them  as  if  on  a  bed. 

Hardly  had  they  finished,  when  the  first  servant  who  had 
disappeared  came  back,  carrying  over  his  arm  a  folding  table, 
and  dishes  in  his  hands.  The  only  furniture  already  in 
the  tower  consisted  of  two  long,  low  wooden  benches  without 
backs;  and  as  the  servant  from  the  house  set  up  the  folding 
table,  he  who  had  opened  the  windows  placed  the  benches, 
one  on  either  side.  At  the  same  moment,  through  the  open 
door,  a  man  could  be  seen  running  with  a  live  lamb  flung  over 
his  shoulder. 

"Good  heavens,  what  is  he  going  to  do  with  that ?"  Stephen 
asked,  stricken  with  a  presentiment. 

"I'm  afraid,"  Nevill  answered  quickly  in  English,  "that  it's 
going  to  be  killed  for  our  entertainment."  His  pink  colour 
faded,  and  in  Arabic  he  begged  the  Caid  to  give  orders  that, 
if  the  lamb  were  for  them,  its  life  be  spared,  as  they  were  under 
a  vow  never  to  touch  meat.  This  was  the  first  excuse  he  could 
think  of;  and  when,  to  his  joy,  a  message  was  sent  after  the 
slayer  of  innocence,  he  added  that,  very  unfortunately,  they 
had  a  pressing  engagement  which  would  tear  them  away  from 
the  Caid's  delightful  house  all  too  soon. 

Perhaps  the  Caid's  face  expressed  no  oppressive  regret, 
yet  he  said  kindly  that  he  hoped  to  keep  his  guests  at  least 
until  next  morning.  In  the  cool  of  the  day  they  would  see 
the  cemetery;  they  would  return,  and  eat  the  evening  meal. 
It  would  then  be  time  to  sleep.  And  with  a  gesture  he  indi- 
cated the  rugs  and  cushions,  under  which  the  beetles  were  now 
buried  like  mountain-dwellers  beneath  an  avalanche. 

Nevill,  still  pale,  thanked  his  host  earnestly,  complimented 
the  rugs,  and  assured  the  Caid  that,  of  course,  they  would  be 
extraordinarily  comfortable,  but  even  such  inducements 


238  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

did  not  make  it  possible  for  them  to  neglect  their  duty 
elsewhere. 

"In  any  case  we  shall  now  eat  and  drink  together,"  said 
Ben  Sliman,  pointing  to  the  table,  and  towards  a  servant  now 
arriving  from  the  house  with  a  coffee-tray.  The  dishes  had 
been  set  down  on  the  bare  board,  and  one  contained  the  usual 
little  almond  cakes,  the  other,  a  conserve  of  some  sort  bathed 
in  honey,  where  already  many  flies  were  revelling.  The  servant 
who  had  spread  the  table,  quietly  pulled  the  flies  out  by  their 
wings,  or  killed  them  on  the  edge  of  the  dish. 

Nevill,  whiter  than  before,  accepted  cordially,  and  giving 
Stephen  a  glance  of  despair,  which  said:  "Noblesse  oblige," 
he  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  honey,  where  there  were  fewest 
flies,  and  took  out  a  sweetmeat.  Stephen  did  the  same.  All 
three  ate,  and  drank  sweet  black  cafe  maure.  Once  the  Caid 
turned  to  glance  at  something  outside  the  door,  and  his  secre- 
tive, light  grey  eyes  were  troubled.  As  they  ate  and  drank, 
they  talked,  Nevill  tactfully  catechizing,  the  Caid  answering 
with  pleasant  frankness.  He  did  not  inquire  why  they  wished 
to  have  news  of  Ben  Halim,  who  had  once  lived  in  the  house 
for  a  short  time,  and  had  now  long  been  dead.  Perhaps  he 
wished  to  give  the  Roumis  a  lesson  in  discretion;  but  as  their 
friendliness  increased  over  the  dripping  sweets,  Nevill  ven- 
tured to  ask  a  crucial  question.  What  had  become  of  Ben 
Halim's  American  wife  ? 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  Cai'd  frowned,  very  slightly, 
but  it  was  plain  to  see  he  thought  a  liberty  had  been  taken 
which,  as  host,  he  was  unable  to  resent. 

"I  know  nothing  of  my  dead  cousin's  family,"  he  said. 
"No  doubt  its  members  went  with  him,  if  not  to  Mecca,  at 
least  a  part  of  the  way,  and  if  any  such  persons  wished  to 
return  to  Europe  after  his  death,  it  is  certain  they  would  have 
been  at  liberty  to  do  so.  This  house  my  cousin  wished  me  to 
have,  and  I  took  possession  of  it  in  due  time,  finding  it  empty 
and  in  good  order.  If  you  search  for  any  one,  I  should  advise 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  239 

searching  ia  France  or,  perhaps,  in  America.  Unluckily,  there 
I  cannot  help.  But  when  it  is  cool,  we  will  go  to  the  ceme- 
tery. Let  'us  go  after  the  prayer,  the  prayer  of  Moghreb." 

But  Nevill  was  reluctant.  So  was  Stephen,  when  the  pro-, 
posal  was  explained.  They  wished  to  go  while  it  was  still  hot, 
or  not  at  all.  It  may  be  that  even  this  eccentric  proposal 
did  not  surprise  or  grieve  the  Caid,  though  as  a  rule  he  was 
not  fond  of  being  out  of  doors  in  the  glare  of  the  sun. 

He  agreed  to  the  suggestion  that  the  motor-car  should  take 
all  three  down  the  hill,  but  said  that  he  would  prefer  to  walk 
back. 

The  "  teuf-teuf "  of  the  engine  began  once  more  outside  the 
white  gates ;  and  for  the  second  time  Victoria  flew  to  the  window, 
pressing  her  face  against  the  thick  green  moucharabia  which 
excluded  flies  and  prevented  any  one  outside  from  seeing  what 
went  on  within. 

"Calm  thyself,  O  Rose,"  urged  the  feeble  voice  of  Leila 
M'Barka.  "  Thou  hast  said  these  men  are  nothing  to  thee." 

«  "One  is  my  friend,"  the  girl  pleaded,  with  a  glance  at  the 
high  couch  of  rugs  on  which  M'Barka  lay. 

"  A  young  girl  cannot  have  a  man  for  a  friend.  He  may  be  a 
lover  or  a  husband,  but  never  a  friend.  Thou  knowest  this  in 
thy  heart,  O  Rose,  and  thou  hast  sworn  to  me  that  never  hast 
thou  had  a  lover." 

Victoria  did  not  care  to  argue.  "I  am  sure  he  has  come 
here  to  try  and  find  me.  He  is  anxious.  That  is  very  good 
of  him  —  all  the  more,  because  we  are  nothing  to  each  other. 
How  can  I  let  him  go  away  without  a  word  ?  It  is  too  hard- 
hearted. I  do  think,  if  Si  Maieddine  were  here,  he  would  say 
so  too.  He  would  let  me  see  Mr.  Knight  and  just  tell  him  that 
I'm  perfectly  safe  and  on  the  way  to  my  sister.  That  once  she 
lived  in  this  house,  and  I  hoped  to  find  her  here,  but " 

"  Maieddine  would  not  wish  thee  to  tell  the  young  man  these 
things,  or  any  other  things,  or  show  thyself  to  him  at  all," 
M'Barka  persisted,  lifting  herself  on  the  bed  in  growing  excite- 


240  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ment.  "Dost  thou  not  guess,  he  runs  many  dangers  in  guid- 
ing thee  to  the  wife  of  a  man  who  is  as  one  dead  ?  Dost  thou 
wish  to  ruin  him  who  risks  his  whole  future  to  content  thee  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  I  would  do  nothing  which  could  bring  harm 
to  Si  Maieddine,"  Victoria  said,  the  eagerness  dying  out  of  her 
voice.  "I  have  kept  my  word  with  him.  I  have  let  nobody 
know  —  nobody  at  all.  But  we  could  trust  Mr.  Knight  and 
Mr.  Caird.  And  to  see  them  there,  in  the  courtyard,  and  let 
them  go  —  it  is  too  much ! " 

"  Why  shouldst  thou  consider  me,  whom  thou  hast  known  but 
a  few  days,  when  thou  wouldst  be  hurrying  on  towards  thy 
sister  Sal'da?  Yet  it  will  surely  be  my  death  if  thou  makest 
any  sign  to  those  men.  My  heart  would  cease  to  beat.  It 
beats  but  weakly  now." 

With  a  sigh,  Victoria  turned  away  from  the  moucharabia,  and 
crossing  the  room  to  M'Barka,  sat  down  on  a  rug  by  the  side  of 
her  couch.  "I  do  consider  thee,"  she  said.  "If  it  were  not 
for  thee  and  Si  Maieddine,  I  might  not  be  able  to  get  to  Saidee 
at  all ;  so  I  must  not  mind  being  delayed  a  few  days.  It  is  worse 
for  thee  than  for  me,  because  thou  art  suffering." 

"  When  a  true  believer  lies  ill  for  more  than  three  days,  his 
sins  are  all  forgiven  him,"  M'Barka  consoled  herself.  She 
put  out  a  hot  hand,  and  laid  it  on  Victoria's  head.  "Thou  art 
a  good  child.  Thou  hast  given  up  thine  own  will  to  do  what 
is  right." 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure  at  this  moment  that  I  am  doing  what  is 
right,"  murmured  Victoria.  "But  I  can't  make  thee  more  ill 
than  thou  art,  so  I  must  let  Mr.  Knight  go.  And  probably  I 
shall  never  see  him,  never  hear  of  him  again.  He  will  look 
for  me,  and  then  he  will  grow  tired,  and  perhaps  go  home  to 
England  before  I  can  write  to  let  him  know  I  am  safe  with 
Saidee."  Her  voice  broke  a  little.  She  bent  down  her  head, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

She  heard  the  creaking  of  the  gate  as  it  shut.  The  motor- 
car had  gone  panting  away.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  her 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  241 

heart  would  break.  Just  one  glimpse  had  she  caught  of 
Stephen's  face,  and  it  had  looked  to  her  more  than  ever  like  the 
face  of  a  knight  who  would  fight  to  the  death  for  a  good  cause. 
She  had  not  quite  realized  how  noble  a  face  it  was,  or  how  hard 
it  would  be  to  let  it  pass  out  of  her  life.  He  would  always 
hate  her  if  he  guessed  she  had  sat  there,  knowing  he  had  come 
so  far  for  her  sake  —  she  was  sure  it  was  for  her  sake  —  and 
had  made  no  sign.  But  he  would  not  guess.  And  it  was  true, 
as  Leila  M'Barka  said,  he  was  nothing  to  her.  Saidee  was 
everything.  And  she  was  going  to  Saidee.  She  must  think 
only  of  Saidee,  and  the  day  of  their  meeting. 


Stephen  had  never  seen  an  Arab  cemetery;  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  this  Mussulman  burial-place,  scattered  over  two  low 
hills,  in  the  midst  of  desert  wastes,  was  beautiful  and  pathetic. 
The  afternoon  sunshine  beat  upon  the  koubbahs  of  marabouts, 
and  the  plastered  graves  or  headstones  of  less  important  folk; 
but  so  pearly  pale  were  they  all  that  the  golden  quality  of  the 
light  was  blanched  as  if  by  some  strange,  white  magic,  and 
became  like  moonlight  shining  on  a  field  of  snow. 

There  were  no  names  on  any  of  the  tombs,  even  the  grandest. 
Here  and  there  on  a  woman's  grave  was  a  hand  of  Fatma,  or  a 
pair  of  the  Prophet's  slippers ;  and  on  those  of  a  few  men  were 
turbans  carved  in  marble,  to  tell  that  the  dead  had  made  pil- 
grimage to  Mecca.  All  faces  were  turned  towards  the  sacred 
city,  as  Mussulmans  turn  when  they  kneel  to  pray,  in  mosque  or 
in  desert;  and  the  white  slabs,  narrow  or  broad,  long  or  short, 
ornamental  or  plain,  flat  or  roofed  with  fantastic  maraboutic 
domes,  were  placed  very  close  together.  At  one  end  of  the 
cemetery,  only  bits  of  pottery  marked  the  graves;  yet  each  bit 
was  a  little  different  from  the  other,  meaning  as  much  to  those 
who  had  placed  them  there  as  names  and  epitaphs  in  European 
burial  grounds.  On  the  snowy  headstones  and  flat  platforms, 


242  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

drops  of  rose-coloured  wax  from  little  candles,  lay  like  tears 
of  blood  shed  by  the  mourners,  arid  there  was  a  scattered  spray 
of  faded  orange  blossoms,  brought  by  some  loving  hand  from  a 
far-away  garden  in  an  oasis. 

"Here  lies  my  cousin,  Cassim  ben  Halim,"  said  the  Cald, 
pointing  to  a  grave  comparatively  new,  surmounted  at  the 
head  with  a  carved  turban.  Nearer  to  it  than  any  other 
tomb  was  that  of  a  woman,  beautified  with  the  Prophet's 
slippers. 

"Is  it  possible  that  his  wife  lies  beside  him?"  Stephen  made 
Nevill  ask. 

"It  is  a  lady  of  his  house.  I  can  say  no  more.  When  his 
body  was  brought  here,  hers  was  brought  also,  in  a  coffin, 
which  is  permitted  to  the  women  of  Islam,  with  the  request  that 
it  should  be  placed  near  my  cousin's  tomb.  This  was  done; 
and  it  is  all  I  can  tell,  because  it  is  all  I  know." 

The  Arab  looked  the  Englishman  straight  in  the  eyes  as  he 
answered ;  and  Stephen  felt  that  in  this  place,  so  simple,  so  peace- 
ful, so  near  to  nature's  heart,  it  would  be  difficult  for  a  man 
to  lie  to  another,  even  though  that  man  were  a  son  of  Islam,  the 
other  a  "dog  of  a  Christian."  For  the  first  time  he  began  to 
believe  that  Cassim  ben  Halim  had  in  truth  died,  and  that 
Victoria  Ray's  sister  was  perhaps  dead  also.  Her  death  alone 
could  satisfactorily  explain  her  long  silence.  And  against  the 
circumstantial  evidence  of  this  little  grave,  adorned  with  the 
slippers  of  the  Prophet,  there  was  only  a  girl's  impression  — 
Victoria's  feeling  that,  if  Saidee  were  dead,  she  "must  have 
known." 

The  two  friends  stood  for  a  while  by  the  white  graves,  where 
the  sunshine  lay  like  moonlight  on  snow;  and  then,  because 
there  was  nothing  more  for  them  to  do  in  that  place,  they 
thanked  the  Cald,  and  made  ready  to  go  their  way.  Again  he 
politely  refused  their  offer  to  drive  him  up  to  his  own  gate,  and 
bade  them  good-bye  when  they  had  got  into  the  car.  He 
stood  and  watched  it  go  bumping  away  over  the  rough,  desert 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  243 

road,  pieces  of  which  had  been  gnawed  off  by  a  late  flood,  as  a 
cake  is  bitten  round  the  edge  by  a  greedy  child. 

They  had  had  enough  of  motor-cars  for  that  day,  up  there 
on  the  hill!  The  Caid  was  glad  when  the  sound  died.  The 
machine  was  no  more  suited  to  his  country,  he  thought,  than 
were  the  men  of  Europe  who  tore  about  the  world  in  it,  trying 
to  interfere  in  other  people's  business. 

"El  hamdou-lillah !  God  be  praised!"  he  whispered,  as 
the  yellow  automobile  vanished  from  sight  and  Maieddine 
came  out  from  the  cluster  of  black  tents  in  the  yellow  sand. 


XXVI 

NEXT  day,  Leila  M'Barka  was  well  enough  to  begin 
the  march  again.     They  started,  in  the  same  cur- 
tained carriage,  at  that  moment  before  dawn  while 
it  is  still  dark,  and  a  thin  white  cloth  seems  spread 
over  the  dead  face  of  night.     Then  day  came  trembling  along 
the  horizon,  and  the  shadows  of  horses  and  carriage  grew 
long  and  grotesquely  deformed.     It  was  the  time,  M'Barka 
said,  when  Chi  tan  the  devil,  and  the  evil  Djenoun  that  possess 
people's  minds  and  drive  them  insane,  were  most   powerful; 
and  she  would  hardly  listen  when  Victoria  answered  that  she 
did  not  believe  in  Djenoun. 

In  a  long  day,  they  came  to  Bou-Saada,  reaching  the  hidden 
oasis  after  nightfall,  and  staying  in  the  house  of  the  CaTd  with 
whom  Stephen  and  Nevill  had  talked  of  Ben  Halim.  Leila 
M'Barka  was  related  to  the  Caid's  wife,  and  was  so  happy  in 
meeting  a  cousin  after  years  of  separation,  that  the  fever  in 
her  blood  was  cooled;  and  in  the  morning  she  was  able  to 
go  on. 

Then  came  two  days  of  driving  to  Djelfa,  at  first  in  a  country 
strange  enough  to  be  D jinn-haunted,  a  country  of  gloomy 
mountains,  and  deep  water-courses  like  badly  healed  wounds; 
passing  through  dry  river-beds,  and  over  broken  roads  with 
here  and  there  a  bordj  where  men  brought  water  to  the  mules, 
in  skins  held  together  with  ropes  of  straw.  At  last,  after  a 
night,  not  too  comfortable,  spent  in  a  dismal  bordj,  they  came 
to  a  wilderness  which  any  fairytale-teller  would  have  called 
the  end  of  the  world.  The  road  had  dwindled  to  a  track  across 
gloomy  desert,  all  the  more  desolate,  somehow,  because  of 

244 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  245 

the  dry  esparto  grass  growing  thinly  among  stones.  Nothing 
seemed  to  live  or  move  in  this  world,  except  a  lizard  that  whisked 
its  grey-green  length  across  the  road,  a  long-legged  bird  which 
hopped  gloomily  out  of  the  way,  or  a  few  ragged  black  and 
white  sheep  with  nobody  to  drive  them.  In  the  heat  of  the 
day  nothing  stirred,  not  even  the  air,  though  the  distance 
shimmered  and  trembled  with  heat;  but  towards  night  jackals 
padded  lithely  from  one  rock  shelter  to  another.  The  carriage 
drove  through  a  vast  plain,  rimmed  with  far-away  mountains, 
red  as  porphyry,  but  fading  to  purple  at  the  horizon.  Vic- 
toria felt  that  she  would  never  come  to  the  end  of  this  plain  ,, 
that  it  must  finish  only  with  eternity;  and  she  wished  in  an 
occasional  burst  of  impatience  that  she  were  travelling  in  Nevill 
Caird's  motor-car.  She  could  reach  her  sister  in  a  third  of 
the  time!  She  told  herself  that  these  thoughts  were  ungrate- 
ful to  Mai'eddine,  who  was  doing  so  much  for  her  sake,  and 
she  kept  up  her  spirits  whether  they  dragged  on  tediously, 
or  stopped  by  the  way  to  eat,  or  to  let  M'Barka  rest.  She 
tried  to  control  her  restlessness,  but  feared  that  Maieddine 
saw  it,  for  he  took  pains  to  explain,  more  than  once,  how 
necessary  was  the  detour  they  were  making.  Along  this  route 
he  had  friends  who  were  glad  to  entertain  them  at  night,  and 
give  them  mules  or  horses,  and  besides,  it  was  an  advantage 
that  the  way  should  be  unfrequented  by  Europeans.  He 
cheered  her  by  describing  the  interest  of  the  journey  when, 
by  and  by,  she  would  ride  a  mehari,  sitting  in  a  bassour,  made 
of  branches  heated  and  bent  into  shape  like  a  great  cage,  lined 
and  draped  with  soft  haoulis  of  beautiful  colours,  and  com- 
fortably cushioned.  It  would  not  be  long  now  before  they 
should  come  to  the  douar  of  his  father  the  Agha,  beyond  El 
Aghouat.  She  would,  have  a  wonderful  experience  there; 
and  according  to  Maieddine,  all  the  rest  of  the  journey  would 
be  an  enchantment.  Never  for  a  moment  would  he  let  her 
tire.  Oh,  he  would  promise  that  she  should  be  half  sorry 
when  the  last  day  came!  As  for  Leila  M'Barka,  the  Rose  of 


246  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  West  need  not  fear,  for  the  bassour  was  easy  as  a  cradle 
to  a  woman  of  the  desert;  and  M'Barka,  rightfully  a  princess 
of  Touggourt,  was  desert-born  and  bred. 

Queer  little  patches  of  growing  grain,  or  miniature  orchards 
enlivened  the  dull  plain  round  the  ugly  Saharian  town  of 
Djelfa,  headquarters  of  the  Ouled  Nails.  The  place  looked 
unprepossessingly  new  and  French,  and  obtrusively  military; 
dismal,  too,  in  the  dusty  sand  which  a  wailing  wind  blew  through 
the  streets;  but  scarcely  a  Frenchman  was  to  be  seen,  except 
the  soldiers.  Many  Arabs  worked  with  surprising  briskness 
at  the  loading  or  unloading  of  great  carts,  men  of  the  Ouled 
Nails,  with  eyes  more  mysterious  than  the  eyes  of  veiled  women; 
tall  fellows  wearing  high  shoes  of  soft,  pale  brown  leather  made 
for  walking  long  distances  in  heavy  sand;  and  Maieddine 
said  that  there  was  great  traffic  and  commerce  between  Djelfa 
and  the  M'Zab  country,  where  she  and  he  and  M'Barka  would 
arrive  presently,  after  passing  his  father's  douar. 

Maieddine  was  uneasy  until  they  were  out  of  Djelfa,  for, 
though  few  Europeans  travelled  that  way,  and  the  road  is  hide- 
ous for  motors,  still  it  was  not  impossible  that  a  certain  yellow 
car  had  slipped  in  before  them,  to  lie  in  wait.  The  Caid's 
house,  where  they  spent  that  night,  was  outside  the  town, 
and  behind  its  closed  doors  and  little  windows  there  was  no 
fear  of  intruders.  It  was  good  to  be  sure  of  shelter  and  secur- 
ity under  a  friend's  roof;  and  so  far,  in  spite  of  the  adventure 
at  Ben  Sliman's,  everything  was  going  well  enough.  Only  — 
Maieddine  was  a  little  disappointed  in  Victoria's  manner 
towards  himself.  She  was  sweet  and  friendly,  and  grateful 
for  all  he  did,  but  she  did  not  seem  interested  in  him  as  a  man. 
He  felt  that  she  was  eager  to  get  on,  that  she  was  counting  the 
days,  not  because  of  any  pleasure  they  might  bring  in  his 
society,  but  to  make  them  pass  more  quickly.  Still,  with  the 
deep-rooted  patience  of  the  Arab,  he  went  on  hoping.  His 
father,  Agha  of  the  Ouled-Serrin,  reigned  in  the  desert  like 
a  petty  king.  Maieddine  thought  that  the  douar  arid  the  Agha's 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  247 

state  must  impress  her;  and  the  journey  on  from  there  would 
be  a  splendid  experience,  different  indeed  from  this  inter- 
minable jogging  along,  cramped  up  in  a  carriage,  with  M'Barka 
sighing,  or  leaning  a  heavy  head  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  Out 
in  the  open,  Victoria  in  her  bassour,  he  on  the  horse  which  he 
would  take  from  his  father's  goum,  travelling  would  be  pure 
joy.  And  Maieddine  had  been  saving  up  many  surprises  for 
that  time,  things  he  meant  to  do  for  the  girl,  which  must  turn 
her  heart  towards  him. 

Beyond  Djelfa,  on  the  low  mountains  that  alone  broke  the 
monotony  of  the  dismal  plain,  little  watch-towers  rose  dark 
along  the  sky-line  —  watch-towers  old  as  Roman  days.  Some- 
times the  travellers  met  a  mounted  man  wearing  a  long,  hooded 
cloak  over  his  white  burnous;  a  cavalier  of  the  Bureau 
Arabe,  or  native  policeman  on  his  beat,  under  the  authority 
of  a  civil  organization  more  powerful  in  the  Sahara  than  the 
army.  These  men,  riding  alone,  saluted  Si  Maieddine  almost 
with  reverence,  and  Leila  M'Barka  told  Victoria,  with  pride, 
that  her  cousin  was  immensely  respected  by  the  French  Govern- 
ment. He  had  done  much  for  France  in  the  far  south,  where 
his  family  influence  was  great,  and  he  had  adjusted  difficulties 
between  the  desert  men  and  their  rulers.  "  He  is  more  tolerant 
than  I,  to  those  through  whom  Allah  has  punished  us  for  our 
sins,"  said  the  woman  of  the  Sahara.  "I  was  brought  up  in 
an  older  school;  and  though  I  may  love  one  of  the  Roumis,  as 
I  have  learned  to  love  thee,  oh  White  Rose,  I  cannot  love  whole 
Christian  nations.  Maieddine  is  wiser  than  I,  yet  I  would 
not  change  my  opinions  for  his;  unless,  as  I  often  think,  he 

really "  she  stopped  suddenly,  frowning  at  herself.     "This 

dreariness  is  not  our  desert,"  she  explained  eagerly  to  the  girl, 
as  the  horses  dragged  the  carriage  over  the  sandy  earth,  through 
whose  hard  brown  surface  the  harsh,  colourless  blades  of 
drinn  pricked  like  a  few  sparse  hairs  on  the  head  of  a  shrivelled 
old  man.  "In  the  Sahara,  there  are  four  kinds  of  desert, 
because  Allah  put  four  angels  in  charge,  giving  each  his  own 


248  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

portion.  The  Angel  of  the  Chebka  was  cold  of  nature,  with 
no  kindness  in  his  heart,  and  was  jealous  of  the  others;  so 
the  Chebka  is  desolate,  sown  with  sharp  rocks  which  were 
upheaved  from  under  the  earth  before  man  came,  and  its 
dark  ravines  are  still  haunted  by  evil  spirits.  The  Angel  of 
the  Hameda  was  careless,  and  forgot  to  pray  for  cool  valleys 
and  good  water,  so  the  Hameda  hardened  into  a  great  plateau 
of  rock.  The  Angel  of  the  Gaci  was  loved  by  a  houri,  who 
appeared  to  him  and  danced  on  the  firm  sand  of  his  desert. 
Vanishing,  she  scattered  many  jewels,  and  fruits  from  the 
celestial  gardens  which  turned  into  beautifully  coloured  stones 
as  they  fell,  and  there  they  have  lain  from  that  day  to  this. 
But  best  of  all  was  the  Angel  of  the  Erg,  our  desert  —  desert 
of  the  shifting  dunes,  never  twice  the  same,  yet  always  more 
beautiful  to-day  than  yesterday;  treacherous  to  strangers,  but 
kind  as  the  bosom  of  a  mother  to  her  children.  The  first  three 
angels  were  men,  but  the  fourth  and  best  is  the  angel  woman 
who  sows  the  heaven  with  stars,  for  lamps  to  light  her  own 
desert,  and  all  the  world  beside,  even  the  world  of  infidels." 

M'Barka  and  Maleddine  both  talked  a  great  deal  of  El 
Aghouat,  which  M'Barka  called  the  desert  pearl,  next  in 
beauty  to  her  own  wild  Touggourt,  and  Maleddine  laughingly 
likened  the  oasis-town  to  Paris.  "It  is  the  Paris  of  our  Sa- 
hara," he  said,  "and  all  the  desert  men,  from  Caids  to  camel- 
drivers,  look  forward  to  its  pleasures." 

He  planned  to  let  the  girl  see  El  Aghouat  for  the  first  time 
at  sunset.  That  was  to  be  one  of  his  surprises.  By  nature 
he  was  dramatic;  and  the  birth  of  the  sun  and  the  death  of 
the  sun  are  the  great  dramas  of  the  desert.  He  wished  to  be 
the  hero  of  such  a  drama  for  Victoria,  with  El  Aghouat  for 
his  background;  for  there,  he  was  leading  her  in  at  the  gate 
of  his  own  country. 

When  they  had  passed  the  strange  rock-shape  known  as 
the  Chapeau  de  Gendarme,  and  the  line  of  mountains  which 
is  like  the  great  wall  of  China,  Mai'eddine  defied  the  danger 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  249 

he  had  never  quite  ceased  to  fear  during  the  five  long  days 
since  the  adventure  on  the  other  side  of  Bou-Saada.  He 
ordered  the  carriage  curtains  to  be  rolled  up  as  tightly  as  they 
would  go,  and  Victoria  saw  a  place  so  beautiful  that  it  was 
like  the  secret  garden  of  some  Eastern  king.  It  was  as  if  they 
had  driven  abruptly  over  the  edge  of  a  vast  bowl  half  filled 
with  gold  dust,  and  ringed  round  its  rim  with  quivering  rosy 
flames.  Perhaps  the  king  of  the  garden  had  a  dragon  whose 
business  it  was  to  keep  the  fire  always  alight  to  prevent  rob- 
bers from  coming  to  steal  the  gold  dust;  and  so  ardently  had 
it  been  blazing  there  for  centuries,  that  all  the  sky  up  to  the 
zenith  had  caught  fire,  burning  with  so  dazzling  an  intensity 
of  violet  that  Victoria  thought  she  could  warm  her  hands  in  its 
reflection  on  the  sand.  In  the  azure  crucible  diamonds  were 
melting,  boiling  up  in  a  radiant  spray,  but  suddenly  the  violet 
splendour  was  cooled,  and  after  a  vague  quivering  of  rainbow 
tints,  the  celestial  rose  tree  of  the  Sahara  sunset  climbed  blos- 
soming over  the  whole  blue  dome,  east,  west,  north  and  south. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  golden  bowl,  there  was  a  riverbed  to  cross, 
on  a  bridge  of  planks,  but  among  the  burning  stones  trickled 
a  mere  runnel  of  water,  bright  as  spilt  mercury.  And  Maled- 
dine  chose  the  moment  when  the  minarets  of  El  Aghouat  rose 
from  a  sea  of  palms,  to  point  out  the  strange,  pale  hills  crowned 
by  old  koubbahs  of  marabouts  and  the  military  hospital.  He 
told  the  story  of  the  Arab  revolt  of  fifty  odd  years  ago;  and 
while  he  praised  the  gallantry  of  ihe  French,  Victoria  saw 
in  his  eyes,  heard  in  the  thrill  of  his  voice,  that  his  admiration 
was  for  his  own  people.  This  made  her  thoughtful,  for  though 
it  was  natural  enough  to  sympathize  with  the  Arabs  who  had 
stood  the  siege  and  been  reconquered  after  desperate  fighting, 
until  now  his  point  of  view  had  seemed  to  be  the  modern, 
progressive,  French  point  of  view.  Quickly  the  question  flashed 
through  her  mind — "Is  he  letting  himself  go,  showing  me  his 
real  self,  because  I'm  in  the  desert  with  him,  and  he  thinks 
I'll  never  go  back  among  Europeans?" 


250  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  shivered  a  little  at  the  thought,  but  she  put  it  away  with 
the  doubt  of  Mai'eddine  that  came  with  it.  Never  had  he 
given  her  the  least  cause  to  fear  him,  and  she  would  go  on 
trusting  in  his  good  faith,  as  she  had  trusted  from  the  first. 

Still,  there  was  that  creeping  chill,  in  contrast  to  the  warm 
glory  of  the  sunset,  which  seemed  to  shame  it  by  giving  a 
glimpse  of  the  desert's  heart,  which  was  Maieddine's  heart. 
She  hurried  to  say  how  beautiful  was  El  Aghouat;  and  that 
night,  in  the  house  of  the  Cald,  (an  uncle  of  Maieddine's  on 
his  mother's  side),  as  the  women  grouped  round  her,  hospitable 
and  admiring,  she  reproached  herself  again  for  her  suspicion. 
The  wife  of  the  Cald  was  dignified  and  gentle.  There  were 
daughters  growing  up,  and  though  they  knew  nothing,  or 
seemed  to  know  nothing,  of  Saidee,  they  were  sure  that,  if 
Maleddine  knew,  all  was  well.  Because  they  were  his  cousins 
they  had  seen  and  been  seen  by  him,  and  the  young  girls 
poured  out  all  the  untaught  romance  of  their  little  dim  souls 
in  praise  of  Maleddine.  Once  they  were  on  the  point  of  saying 
something  which  their  mother  seemed  to  think  indiscreet, 
and  checked  them  quickly.  Then  they  stopped,  laughing; 
and  their  laughter,  like  the  laughter  of  little  children,  was  so 
contagious  that  Victoria  laughed  too. 

There  was  some  dreadful  European  furniture  of  sprawling, 
"  nouveau  art "  design  in  the  guest-room  which  she  and  Leila 
M'Barka  shared;  and  as  Victoria  lay  awake  on  the  hard  bed, 
of  which  the  girls  were  proud,  she  said  to  herself  that  she  had 
not  been  half  grateful  enough  to  Si  Maleddine.  For  ten  years 
she  had  tried  to  find  Saidee,  and  until  the  other  day  she  had 
been  little  nearer  her  heart's  desire  than  when  she  was  a  child, 
hoping  and  longing  in  the  school  garret.  Now  Maleddine 
had  made  the  way  easy  —  almost  too  easy,  for  the  road  to 
the  golden  silence  had  become  so  wonderful  that  she  was 
tempted  to  forget  her  haste  to  reach  the  end. 


xxvn 

THERE  is  my  father's  doiiar,"  said  Si  Maleddine; 
and  Victoria's  eyes  followed  his  pointing  finger. 
Into  a  stony  and  desolate  waste  had  billowed 
one  golden  wave  of  sand,  and  on  the  fringe  of  this 
wave,  the  girl  saw  a  village  of  tents,  black  and  brown,  lying 
closely  together,  as  a  fleet  of  dark  fishing-boats  lie  in  the  water. 
There  were  many  little  tents,  very  flat  and  low,  crouched  around 
one  which  even  at  a  distance  was  conspicuous  for  its  enormous 
size.  It  looked  like  a  squatting  giant  among  an  army  of  pig- 
mies; and  the  level  light  of  late  afternoon  gave  extraordinary 
value  to  its  colours,  which  were  brighter  and  newer  than  those 
of  the  lesser  tents.  As  their  swaying  carriage  brought  the 
travellers  nearer,  Victoria  could  see  deep  red  and  brown  stripes, 
separated  by  narrow  bands  of  white.  For  background,  there 
was  a  knot  of  trees ;  for  they  had  come  south  of  El  Aghouat  to 
the  strange  region  of  dayas,  where  the  stony  desolation  is  broken 
by  little  emerald  hollows,  running  with  water,  like  big  round 
bowls  stuck  full  of  delicate  greenery  and  blossoms. 

Suddenly,  as  Victoria  looked,  figures  began  running  about,  and 
almost  before  she  had  time  to  speak,  ten  or  a  dozen  men 
in  white,  mounted  on  horses,  came  speeding  across  the  desert. 

A  stain  of  red  showed  in  Maiieddine's  cheeks,  and  his  eyes 
lighted  up.  "They  have  been  watching,  expecting  us,"  he 
said.  "  Now  my  father  is  sending  men  to  bid  us  welcome." 

"Perhaps  he  is  coming  himself,"  said  Victoria,  for  there 
was  one  figure  riding  in  the  centre  which  seemed  to  her  more 
splendidly  dignified  than  the  others,  though  all  were  mag- 
nificent horsemen. 

251 


252  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"  No.  It  would  not  be  right  that  the  Agha  himself  should 
come  to  meet  his  son,"  Maieddine  explained.  "Besides 
he  would  be  wearing  a  scarlet  burnous,  embroidered  with  gold. 
He  does  me  enough  honour  in  sending  out  the  pick  of  his  goum, 
which  is  among  the  finest  of  the  Sahara." 

Victoria  had  picked  up  a  great  deal  of  desert  lore  by  this 
time,  and  knew  that  the  "pick  of  the  goum"  would  mean 
the  best  horses  in  the  Agha's  stables,  the  crack  riders  among 
his  trained  men  —  fighting  men,  such  as  he  would  give  to  the 
Government,  if  Arab  soldiers  were  needed. 

The  dozen  cavaliers  swept  over  the  desert,  making  the  sand 
fly  up  under  the  horses'  hoofs  in  a  yellow  spray;  and  nearing 
the  carriage  they  spread  themselves  in  a  semi-circle,  the 
man  Victoria  had  mistaken  for  the  Agha  riding  forward  to 
speak  to  Maieddine. 

"It  is  my  brother-in-law,  Abderrhaman  ben  Douadi," 
exclaimed  Maieddine,  waving  his  hand. 

M'Barka  pulled  her  veil  closer,  and  because  she  did  so,  Vic- 
toria hid  her  face  also,  rather  than  shock  the  Arab  woman's 
prejudices. 

At  a  word  from  his  master,  the  driver  stopped  his  mules 
so  quickly  as  to  bring  them  on  then*  haunches,  and  Maieddine 
sprang  out.  He  and  his  brother-in-law,  a  stately  dark  man 
with  a  short  black  beard  under  an  eagle  nose,  exchanged 
courtesies  which  seemed  elaborate  to  Victoria's  European 
ideas,  and  Si  Abderrhaman  did  not  glance  at  the  half-lowered 
curtains  behind  which  the  women  sat. 

The  men  talked  for  a  few  minutes;  then  Maieddine  got  into 
the  carriage  again ;  and  surrounded  by  the  riders,  it  was  driven 
rapidly  towards  the  tents,  rocking  wildly  in  the  sand,  because 
now  it  had  left  the  desert  road  and  was  making  straight  for  the 
zmala. 

The  Arab  men  on  their  Arab  horses  shouted  as  they  rode, 
as  if  giving  a  signal;  and  from  the  tents,  reddened  now  by  the 
declining  sun,  came  suddenly  a  strange  crying  in  women's 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  253 

voices,  shrill  yet  sweet;  a  sound  that  was  half  a  chant,  half 
an  eerie  yodeling,  note  after  note  of  "  you-you !  —  you-you ! " 
Out  from  behind  the  zeribas,  rough  hedges  of  dead  boughs 
and  brambles  which  protected  each  low  tent,  burst  a  tidal  wave 
of  children,  some  gay  as  little  bright  butterflies  in  gorgeous 
dresses,  others  wrapped  in  brilliant  rags.  From  under  the 
tents  women  appeared,  unveiled,  and  beautiful  in  the  sunset 
light,  with  their  heavy  looped  braids  and  their  dangling,  clank- 
ing silver  jewellery.  "You-you!  you-you!"  they  cried,  dark 
eyes  gleaming,  white  teeth  flashing.  It  was  to  be  a  festival 
for  the  douar,  this  fortunate  evening  of  the  son  and  heir's 
arrival,  with  a  great  lady  of  his  house,  and  her  friend,  a  Roumia 
girl.  There  was  joy  for  everyone,  for  the  Agha's  relatives, 
and  for  each  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  zmala,  mighty 
ones,  or  humble  members  of  the  tribe,  the  Ouled-Serrin.  There 
would  be  feasting,  and  after  dark,  to  give  pleasure  to  the 
Roumia,  the  men  would  make  the  powder  speak.  It  was  like 
a  wedding;  and  best  of  all,  an  exciting  rumour  had  gone  round 
the  douar,  concerning  the  foreign  girl  and  the  Agha's  son,  Si 
Maieddine. 

The  romance  in  Victoria's  nature  was  stirred  by  her  recep- 
tion ;  by  the  white-clad  riders  on  their  slender  horses,  and  the  wild 
"  you-yous  "  of  the  women  and  little  girls.  Maieddine  saw  her 
excitement  and  thrilled  to  it.  This  was  his  great  hour.  All 
that  had  gone  before  had  been  leading  up  to  this  day,  and  to 
the  days  to  come,  when  they  would  be  in  the  fiery  heart  of  the 
desert  together,  lost  to  all  her  friends  whom  he  hated  with  a 
jealous  hatred.  He  helped  M'Barka  to  descend  from  the 
carriage:  then,  as  she  was  received  at  the  tent  door  by  the 
Agha  himself,  Maieddine  forgot  his  self-restraint,  and  swung 
the  girl  down,  with  tingling  hands  that  clasped  her  waist,  as 
if  at  last  she  belonged  to  him. 

Half  fearful  of  what  he  had  done,  lest  she  should  take  alarm 
at  his  sudden  change  of  manner,  he  studied  her  face  anxiously 
as  he  set  her  feet  to  the  ground.  But  there  was  no  cause  for 


254  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

uneasiness.  So  far  from  resenting  the  liberty  he  had  taken 
after  so  many  days  of  almost  ostentatious  respect,  Victoria 
was  not  even  thinking  of  him,  and  her  indifference  would  have 
been  a  blow,  if  he  had  not  been  too  greatly  relieved  to  be  hurt 
by  it.  She  was  looking  at  his  father,  the  Agha,  who  seemed  to 
her  the  embodiment  of  some  biblical  patriarch.  All  through 
her  long  desert  journey,  she  had  felt  as  if  she  had  wandered 
into  a  dream  of  the  Old  Testament.  There  was  nothing  there 
more  modern  than  "Bible  days,"  as  she  said  to  herself,  simply, 
except  the  French  quarters  in  the  few  Arab  towns  through 
which  they  had  passed. 

Not  yet,  however,  had  she  seen  any  figure  as  venerable  as 
the  Agha's,  and  she  thought  at  once  of  Abraham  at  his  tent 
door.  Just  such  a  man  as  this  Abraham  must  have  been  in 
his  old  age.  She  could  even  imagine  him  ready  to  sacrifice  a 
son,  if  he  believed  it  to  be  the  will  of  Allah;  and  Maieddine 
became  of  more  importance  in  her  eyes  because  of  his  relation- 
ship to  this  kingly  patriarch  of  the  Sahara. 

Having  greeted  his  niece,  Leila  M'Barka,  and  passed  her 
hospitably  into  the  tent  where  women  were  dimly  visible, 
the  Agha  turned  to  Maieddine  and  Victoria. 

"The  blessing  of  Allah  be  upon  thee,  O  my  son,"  he  said, 
"  and  upon  thee,  little  daughter.  My  son's  messenger  brought 
Word  of  thy  coming,  and  thou  art  welcome  as  a  silver  shower 
of  rain  after  a  long  drought  in  the  desert.  Be  thou  as  a  child 
of  my  house,  while  thou  art  in  my  tent." 

As  she  gave  him  her  hand,  her  veil  fell  away  from  her  face, 
and  he  saw  its  beauty  with  the  benevolent  admiration  of  an 
old  man  whose  blood  has  cooled.  He  was  so  tall  that  the 
erect,  thin  figure  reminded  Victoria  of  a  lonely  desert  palm.  The 
young  girl  was  no  stern  critic,  and  was  more  inclined  to  see 
good  than  evil  in  every  one  she  met;  therefore  to  her  the  long 
snowy  beard,  the  large  dreamy  eyes  under  brows  like  Maied- 
dine's,  and  the  slow,  benevolent  smile  of  the  Agha  meant 
nobility  of  character.  Her  heart  was  warm  for  the  splendid 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  255 

old  man,  and  he  was  not  unaware  of  the  impression  he  had 
made.  As  he  bowed  her  into  the  tent  where  his  wife  and 
sister  and  daughter  were  crowding  round  M'Barka,  he  said 
in  a  low  voice  to  Maieddine:  "It  is  well,  my  son.  Being  a 
man,  and  young,  thou  couldst  not  have  withstood  her.  When 
the  time  is  ripe,  she  will  become  a  daughter  of  Islam,  because 
for  love  of  thee,  she  will  wish  to  fulfil  thine  heart's  desire." 

"She  does  not  yet  know  that  she  loves  me,"  Maieddine 
answered.  "But  when  thou  hast  given  me  the  white  stallion 
El  Biod,  and  I  ride  beside  the  girl  in  her  bassour  through  the 
long  days  and  the  long  distances,  I  shall  teach  her,  in  the  way 
the  Round  men  teach  their  women  to  love." 

"  But  if  thou  shouldst  not  teach  her  ?  " 

"My  life  is  in  it,  and  I  shall  teach  her,"  said  Maieddine. 
"  But  if  Chitan  stands  between,  and  I  fail  —  which  I  will  not 
do  —  why,  even  so,  it  will  come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end, 
because " 

"Thou  wouldst  say " 

"It  is  well  to  know  one's  own  meaning,  and  to  speak  of  — 
date  stones.  Yet  with  one's  father,  one  can  open  one's  heart. 
He  to  whom  I  go  has  need  of  my  services,  and  what  he  has 
for  twelve  months  vainly  asked  me  to  do,  I  will  promise  to  do, 
for  the  girl's  sake,  if  I  cannot  win  her  without." 

"Take  care!  Thou  enterest  a  dangerous  path,"  said  the 
old  man. 

"Yet  often  I  have  thought  of  entering  there,  before  I  saw 
this  girl's  face." 

"There  might  be  a  great  reward  in  this  life,  and  in  the  life 
beyond.  Yet  once  the  first  step  is  taken,  it  is  irrevocable.  In 
any  case,  commit  me  to  nothing  with  him  to  whom  thou  goest. 
He  is  eaten  up  with  zeal.  He  is  a  devouring  fire  —  and  all 
is  fuel  for  that  fire." 

"  I  will  commit  thee  to  nothing  without  thy  full  permission, 
O  my  father." 

"And  for  thyself,  think  twice  before  thou  killest  the  sheep. 


256  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Remember  our  desert  saying.  '  Who  kills  a  sheep,  kills  a  bee 
Who  kills  a  bee,  kills  a  palm,  and  who  kills  a  palm,  kills  seventy 
prophets.' " 

"  I  would  give  my  sword  to  the  prophets  to  aid  them  in  killing 
those  who  are  not  prophets." 

"Thou  art  faithful.  Yet  let  the  rain  of  reason  fall  on  thy 
head  and  on  thine  heart,  before  thou  givest  thy  sword  into 
the  hand  of  him  who  waits  thine  answer." 

"Thine  advice  is  of  the  value  of  many  dates,  even  of  the 
deglet  nour,  the  jewel  date,  which  only  the  rich  can  eat." 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand,  still  strong  and  firm,  on  his  son's 
shoulder,  and  together  they  went  into  the  great  tent,  that  part 
of  it  where  the  women  were,  for  all  were  closely  related  to  them, 
excepting  the  Roumia,  who  had  been  received  as  a  daughter 
of  the  house. 


When  it  was  evening,  the  douar  feasted,  in  honour  of  the 
guests  who  had  come  to  the  tente  sultane.  The  Agha  had 
given  orders  that  two  sheep  should  be  killed.  One  was  for 
his  own  household;  his  relatives,  his  servants,  many  of  whom 
lived  under  the  one  vast  roof  of  red,  and  white,  and  brown. 
His  daughter,  and  her  husband  who  assisted  him  in  many 
ways,  and  was  his  scribe,  or  secretary,  had  a  tent  of  their  own 
close  by,  next  in  size  to  the  Agha's;  but  they  were  bidden  to 
supper  in  the  great  tent  that  night,  for  the  family  reunion. 
And  because  there  was  a  European  girl  present,  the  women 
ate  with  the  men,  which  was  not  usual. 

The  second  sheep  was  for  the  humbler  folk  of  the  zmala, 
and  they  roasted  it  whole  in  an  open  space,  over  a  fire  of  small, 
dry  wood,  and  of  dead  palm  branches  brought  on  donkey  back 
twenty  miles  across  the  desert,  from  the  nearest  oasis  town, 
also  under  dominion  of  the  Agha.  He  had  a  house  and  gar- 
den there;  but  he  liked  best  to  be  in  his  douar,  with  only  his 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  257 

tent  roof  between  him  and  the  sky.  Also  it  made  him  popular 
with  the  tribe  of  which  he  was  the  head,  to  spend  most  of  his 
time  with  them  in  the  desert.  And  for  some  reasons  of  which 
he  never  spoke,  the  old  man  greatly  valued  this  popularity, 
though  he  treasured  also  the  respect  of  the  French,  who  as- 
sured his  position  and  revenues. 

The  desert  men  had  made  a  ring  round  the  fire,  far  from 
the  green  daya,  so  that  the  blowing  sparks  might  not  reach  the 
trees.  They  sat  in  a  circle,  on  the  sand,  with  a  row  of  women 
on  one  side,  who  held  the  smallest  children  by  their  short 
skirts;  and  larger  children,  wild  and  dark,  as  the  red  light  of 
the  flames  played  over  their  faces,  fed  the  fire  with  pale 
palm  branches.  There  was  no  moon,  but  a  fountain  of  sparks 
spouted  towards  the  stars;  and  though  it  was  night,  the  sky 
was  blue  with  the  fierce  blue  of  steel.  Some  of  the  Agha's 
black  Soudanese  servants  had  made  kous-kous  of  semolina 
with  a  little  mutton  and  a  great  many  red  peppers.  This  they 
gave  to  the  crowd,  in  huge  wooden  bowls;  and  the  richer 
people  boiled  coffee  which  they  drank  themselves,  and  offered 
to  those  sitting  nearest  them. 

When  everybody  had  eaten,  the  powder  play  began  round 
the  fire,  and  at  each  explosion  the  women  shrilled  out  their 
"you-you,  you-you!"  But  this  was  all  for  the  entertainment 
of  outsiders.  Inside  the  Agha's  tent,  the  family  took  their 
pleasure  more  quietly. 

Though  a  house  of  canvas,  there  were  many  divisions  into 
rooms.  The  Agha's  wife  had  hers,  separated  completely 
from  her  sister's,  and  there  was  space  for  guests,  besides  the 
Agha's  own  quarters,  his  reception  room,  his  dining-room 
(invaded  to-night  by  all  his  family)  the  kitchen,  and  sleeping 
place  for  a  number  of  servants. 

There  were  many  dishes  besides  the  inevitable  cheurba,  or 
Arab  soup,  the  kous-kous,  the  mechoui,  lamb  roasted  over 
the  fire.  Victoria  was  almost  sickened  by  the  succession  of 
sweet  things,  cakes  and  sugared  preserves,  made  by  the 


258  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

hands  of  the  Agha's  wife,  Alonda,  who  in  the  Roumia's 
eyes  was  as  like  Sarah  as  the  Agha  was  like  Abraham.  Yet 
everything  was  delicious;  and  after  the  meal,  when  the  coffee 
came,  lagmi  the  desert  wine  distilled  from  the  heart  of  a  palm 
tree,  was  pressed  upon  Victoria.  All  drank  a  little,  for,  said 
Leila  Alonda,  though  strong  drink  was  forbidden  by  the 
Prophet,  the  palms  were  dear  to  him,  and  besides,  in  the 
throats  of  good  men  and  women,  wine  was  turned  to  milk,  as 
Sidi  Aissa  of  the  Christians  turned  water  to  wine  at  the  mar- 
riage feast. 

When  they  had  finished  at  last,  a  Soudanese  woman  poured 
rose-water  over  their  hands,  from  a  copper  jug,  and  wiped 
them  with  a  large  damask  napkin,  embroidered  by  Aichouch, 
the  pretty,  somewhat  coquettish  married  daughter  of  the  house, 
Mai'eddine's  only  sister.  The  rose-water  had  been  distilled 
by  Leila  Fatma,  the  widowed  sister  of  Alonda,  who  shared 
the  hospitality  of  the  Agha's  roof,  in  village  or  douar.  Every 
one  questioned  Victoria,  and  made  much  of  her,  even  the 
Agha;  but,  though  they  asked  her  opinions  of  Africa,  and 
talked  of  her  journey  across  the  sea,  they  did  not  speak  of  her 
past  life  or  of  her  future.  Not  a  word  was  said  concerning  her 
mission,  or  Ben  Halim's  wife,  the  sister  for  whom  she  searched. 

While  they  were  still  at  supper,  the  black  servants  who  had 
waited  upon  them  went  quietly  away,  but  slightly  raised  the 
heavy  red  drapery  which  formed  the  partition  between  that 
room  and  another.  They  looped  up  the  thick  curtain  only 
a  little  way,  but  there  was  a  light  on  the  other  side,  and  Vic- 
toria, curious  as  to  what  would  happen  next,  spied  the  serv- 
ants' black  legs  moving  about,  watched  a  rough  wooden 
bench  placed  on  the  blue  and  crimson  rugs  of  Djebel  Amour, 
and  presently  saw  other  black  legs  under  a  white  burnous  coil 
themselves  upon  the  low  seat. 

Then  began  strange  music,  the  first  sound  of  which  made 
Victoria's  heart  leap.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  heard  the 
music  of  Africa,  except  a  distant  beating  of  tobols  coming  from 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  259 

a  black  tent  across  desert  spaces,  while  she  had  lain  at  night 
in  the  house  of  Mai'eddine's  friends;  or  the  faint,  pure  note 
of  a  henna-dyed  flute  in  the  hand  of  some  boy  keeper  of  goats 
—  a  note  pure  as  the  monotonous  purling  of  water,  heard  in 
the  dark. 

But  this  music  was  so  close  to  her,  that  it  was  like  the  throb- 
bing of  her  own  heart.  And  it  was  no  sweet,  pure  trickle  of 
silver,  but  the  cry  of  passion,  passion  as  old  and  as  burning 
as  the  desert  sands  outside  the  lighted  tent.  As  she  listened, 
struck  into  pulsing  silence,  she  could  see  the  colour  of  the 
music;  a  deep  crimson,  which  flamed  into  scarlet  as  the  tom- 
tom beat,  or  deepened  to  violent  purple,  wicked  as  belladonna 
flowers.  The  wailing  of  the  raita  mingled  with  the  heavy 
throbbing  of  the  tom-tom,  and  filled  the  girl's  heart  with  a 
vague  foreboding,  a  yearning  for  something  she  had  not  known, 
and  did  not  understand.  Yet  it  seemed  that  she  must  have 
both  known  and  understood  long  ago,  before  memory  recorded 
anything  —  perhaps  in  some  forgotten  incarnation.  For  the 
music  and  what  it  said,  monotonously  yet  fiercely,  was  old  as 
the  beginnings  of  the  world,  old  and  changeless  as  the  patterns 
of  the  stars  embroidered  on  the  astrological  scroll  of  the  sky. 
The  hoarse  derbouka,  and  the  languorous  ghesbah  joined  in 
with  the  savage  tobol  and  the  strident  rai'ta;  and  under  all  was 
the  tired  heart-beat  of  the  bendir,  dull  yet  resonant,  and  curi- 
ously exciting  to  the  nerves. 

Victoria's  head  swam.  She  wondered  if  it  were  wholly  the 
effect  of  the  African  music,  or  if  the  lagmi  she  had  sipped  was 
mounting  to  her  brain.  She  grew  painfully  conscious  of  every 
physical  sense,  and  it  was  hard  to  sit  and  listen.  She  longed 
to  spring  up  and  dance  in  time  to  the  droning,  and  throbbing, 
and  crying  of  the  primitive  instruments  which  the  Negroes 
played  behind  the  red  curtain.  She  felt  that  she  must  dance, 
a  new,  strange  dance  the  idea  of  which  was  growing  in  her 
mind,  and  becoming  an  obsession.  She  could  see  it  as  if  she 
were  looking  at  a  picture;  yet  it  was  only  her  nerves  and  her 


260  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

blood  that  bade  her  dance.  Her  reason  told  her  to  sit  still. 
Striving  to  control  herself  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  would  have 
shut  her  ears  too,  if  she  could.  But  the  music  was  loud  in 
them.  It  made  her  see  desert  rivers  rising  after  floods,  and  water 
pounding  against  the  walls  of  underground  caverns.  It  made 
her  hear  the  wild,  fierce  love-call  of  a  desert  bird  to  its  mate. 

She  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  sprang  up,  her  eyes  shining, 
her  cheeks  red.  "May  I  dance  for  you  to  that  music,  Leila 
Alonda?"  she  said  to  the  Agha's  wife.  "I  think  I  could.  I 
long  to  try." 

Leila  Alonda,  who  was  old,  and  accustomed  only  to  the  dancing 
of  the  Almehs,  which  she  thought  shameful,  was  scanda- 
lized at  the  thought  that  the  young  girl  would  will- 
ingly dance  before  men.  She  was  dumb,  not  knowing  what 
answer  to  give,  that  need  not  offend  a  guest,  but  which  might 
save  the  Roumia  from  indiscretion. 

The  Agha,  however,  was  enchanted.  He  was  a  man  of 
the  world  still,  though  he  was  aged  now,  and  he  had  been  to 
Paris,  as  well  as  many  times  to  Algiers.  He  kriew  that  Euro- 
pean ladies  danced  with  men  of  their  acquaintance,  and  he 
was  curious  to  see  what  this  beautiful  child  wished  to  do.  He 
glanced  at  Maieddine,  and  spoke  to  his  wife:  "Tell  the  little 
White  Rose  to  dance;  that  it  will  give  us  pleasure." 

"Dance  then,  in  thine  own  way,  O  daughter,"  Leila 
Alonda  was  forced  to  say;  for  it  did  not  even  occur  to  her  that 
she  might  disobey  her  husband. 

Victoria  smiled  at  them  all;  at  M'Barka  and  Aichouch,  and 
Aichouch's  dignified  husband,  Si  Abderrhaman:  at  Alonda 
and  the  Agha,  and  at  Maieddine,  as,  when  a  child,  she  would 
have  smiled  at  her  sister,  when  beginning  a  dance  made  up 
from  one  of  Saidee's  stories. 

She  had  told  Stephen  of  an  Eastern  dance  she  knew,  but 
this  was  something  different,  more  thrilling  and  wonderful, 
which  the  wild  music  put  into  her  heart.  At  first,  she  hardly 
knew  what  was  the  meaning  she  felt  impelled  to  express  by 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  mi 

gesture  and  pose.  The  spirit  of  the  desert  sang  to  her,  a  song 
of  love,  a  song  old  as  the  love-story  of  Eve;  and  though  the 
secret  of  that  song  was  partly  hidden  from  her  as  yet,  she  must 
try  to  find  it  out  for  herself,  and  picture  it  to  others,  by  dancing. 

Always  before,  when  she  danced,  Victoria  had  called  up  the 
face  of  her  sister,  to  keep  before  her  eyes  as  an  inspiration.  But 
now,  as  she  bent  and  swayed  to  catch  the  spirit's  whispers,  as 
wheat  sways  to  the  whisper  of  the  wind,  it  was  a  man's  face  she 
saw.  Stephen  Knight  seemed  to  stand  in  the  tent,  looking  at 
her  with  a  curiously  wistful,  longing  look,  over  the  heads  of  the 
Arab  audience,  who  sat  on  their  low  divans  and  piled  carpets. 

She  thrilled  to  the  look,  and  the  desert  spirit  made  her  screen 
her  face  from  it,  with  a  sequined  gauze  scarf  which  she  wore. 
For  a  few  measures  she  danced  behind  the  glittering  veil,  then 
with  a  sudden  impulse  which  the  music  gave,  she  tossed  it 
back,  holding  out  her  arms,  and  smiling  up  to  Stephen's  eyes, 
above  the  brown  faces,  with  a  sweet  smile  very  mysterious  to 
the  watchers.  Consciously  she  called  to  Stephen  then,  as  she 
had  promised  she  would  call,  if  she  should  ever  need  him,  for 
somehow  she  did  need  and  want  him;  —  not  for  his  help  in 
finding  Saidee:  she  was  satisfied  with  all  that  Mai'eddine  was 
doing  —  but  for  herself.  The  secret  of  the  music  which  she 
had  been  trying  to  find  out,  was  in  his  eyes,  and  learning  it 
slowly,  made  her  more  beautiful,  more  womanly,  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  As  she  danced  on,  the  two  long  plaits  of 
her  red  hair  loosened  and  shook  out  into  curls  which  played 
round  her  white  figure  like  flames.  Her  hands  fluttered  on 
the  air  as  they  rose  and  fell  like  the  little  white  wiags  of  a  dove; 
and  she  was  dazzling  as  a  brandished  torch,  in  the  ill-lit  tent 
with  its  dark  hangings. 

M'Barka  had  given  her  a  necklace  of  black  beads  which 
the  negresses  had  made  of  benzoin  and  rose  leaves  and  spices, 
held  in  shape  with  pungent  rezin.  Worn  on  the  warm  flesh, 
the  beads  gave  out  a  heady  perfume,  which  was  like  the  breath 
of  the  desert.  It  made  the  girl  giddy,  and  it  grew  stronger 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

and  sweeter  as  she  danced,  seeming  to  mingle  with  the  crying 
of  the  raita  and  the  sobbing  of  the  ghesbah,  so  that  she  con- 
fused fragrance  with  music,  music  with  fragrance. 

Maleddine  stared  at  her,  like  a  man  who  dreams  with  his 
eyes  open.  If  he  had  been  alone,  he  could  have  watched  her 
dance  on  for  hours,  and  wished  that  she  would  never  stop; 
but  there  were  other  men  in  the  tent,  and  he  had  a  maddening 
desire  to  snatch  the  girl  in  his  arms,  smothering  her  in  his 
burnous,  and  rushing  away  with  her  into  the  desert. 

Her  dancing  astonished  him.  He  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it,  for  she  had  told  him  nothing  about  herself,  except 
what  concerned  her  errand  in  Africa.  Though  he  had  been  in 
Paris  when  she  was  there,  he  had  been  deeply  absorbed  in 
business  vital  to  his  career,  and  had  not  heard  of  Victoria  Ray  the 
dancer,  or  seen  her  name  on  the  hoardings. 

Like  his  father,  he  knew  that  European  women  who  danced 
were  not  as  the  African  dancers,  the  Ouled  Nails  and  the  girls 
of  Djebel  Amour.  But  an  Arab  may  have  learned  to  know 
many  things  with  his  mind  which  he  cannot  feel  with  his  heart; 
and  with  his  heart  Mai'eddine  felt  a  wish  to  blind  Abderrhaman, 
because  his  eyes  had  seen  the  intoxicating  beauty  of  Victoria 
as  she  danced.  He  was  ferociously  angry,  but  not  with  the 
girl.  Perhaps  with  himself,  because  he  was  powerless  to  hide 
her  from  others,  and  to  order  her  life  as  he  chose.  Yet  there 
was  a  kind  of  delicious  pain  in  knowing  himself  at  her  mercy, 
as  no  Arab  man  could  be  at  the  mercy  of  an  Arab  woman. 

The  sight  of  Victoria  dancing,  had  shot  new  colours  into 
his  existence.  He  understood  her  less,  and  valued  her  more 
than  before,  a  thousand  times  more,  achingly,  torturingly  more. 
Since  their  first  meeting  on  the  boat,  he  had  admired  the 
American  girl  immensely.  Her  whiteness,  the  golden-red  of 
her  hair,  the  blueness  of  her  eyes  had  meant  perfection  for  him. 
He  had  wanted  her  because  she  was  the  most  beautiful  creature 
he  had  seen,  because  she  was  a  Christian  and  difficult  to  win; 
also  because  the  contrast  between  her  childishness  and  brave 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  263 

independence  was  piquant.  Apart  from  that  contrast,  he 
had  not  thought  much  about  her  nature.  He  had  looked  upon 
her  simply  as  a  beautiful  girl,  who  could  not  be  bought,  but 
must  be  won.  Now  she  had  become  a  bewildering  houri. 
Nothing  which  life  could  give  him  would  make  up  for  the  loss 
of  her.  There  was  nothing  he  would  not  do  to  have  her,  or 
at  least  to  put  her  beyond  the  reach  of  others. 

If  necessary,  he  would  even  break  his  promise  to  the  Agha. 

While  she  danced  inside  the  great  tent,  outside  in  the  open 
space  round  the  fire,  the  dwellers  in  the  little  tents  sat  with 
their  knees  in  their  arms  watching  the  dancing  of  two  young 
Negroes  from  the  Soudan.  The  blacks  had  torn  their  turbans 
from  their  shaven  heads,  and  thrown  aside  their  burnouses. 
Naked  to  their  waists,  with  short,  loose  trousers,  and  sashes 
which  other  men  seized,  to  swing  the  wearers  round  and  round, 
their  sweating  skin  had  the  gloss  of  ebony.  It  was  a  whirl- 
wind of  a  dance,  and  an  old  wizard  with  a  tom-tom,  and  a  dark 
giant  with  metal  castanets  made  music  for  the  dancers,  taking 
eccentric  steps  themselves  as  they  played.  The  Soudanese 
fell  into  an  ecstasy  of  giddiness,  running  about  on  their  hands 
and  feet  like  huge  black  tarantulas,  or  turning  themselves  into 
human  wheels,  to  roll  through  the  bed  of  the  dying  fire  and  out 
on  the  other  side,  sending  up  showers  of  sparks.  All  the  while, 
they  uttered  a  barking  chant,  in  time  to  the  wicked  music, 
which  seemed  to  shriek  for  war  and  bloodshed;  and  now  and 
then  they  would  dash  after  some  toddling  boy,  catch  him  by 
the  scalp-lock  on  his  shaved  head  (left  for  the  grasp  of  Azrail 
the  death-angel)  and  force  him  to  join  the  dance. 

Mean-faced  Kabyle  dogs,  guarding  deserted  tents,  howled 
their  hatred  of  the  music,  while  far  away,  across  desert  spaces, 
jackals  cried  to  one  another.  And  the  scintillating  network 
of  stars  was  dimmed  by  a  thin  veil  of  sand  which  the  wind 
lifted  and  let  fall,  as  Victoria  lifted  and  let  fall  the  spangled 
scarf  that  made  her  beauty  more  mysterious,  more  desirable,  in 
the  eyes  of  Maieddine. 


xxvm 

IN  THE  name  of  the  All-Merciful  and  Pitiful!  We  seek 
refuge  with  the  Lord  of  the  Day,  against  the  sinfulness 
of  beings  created  by  Him;  against  all  evil,  and  against 
the  night,  lest  they  overcome  us  suddenly.  " 

It  was  the  Prayer  of  the  Dawn,  El  Fejur;  and  Victoria 
heard  it  cried  in  the  voices  of  the  old  men  of  the  zmala,  early 
in  the  morning,  as  she  dressed  to  continue  her  journey. 

Every  one  was  astir  in  the  tente  sultane,  behind  the  different 
curtain  partitions,  and  outside  were  the  noises  of  the  douar, 
waking  to  a  new  day.  The  girl  could  not  wait  for  the  coffee 
that  Fafann  would  bring  her,  for  she  was  eager  to  see  the 
caravan  that  Si  Maieddine  was  assembling.  As  soon  as  she 
was  ready  she  stole  out  into  the  dhn>  dawn,  more  mystic  in 
the  desert  than  moon-rise  or  moon-setting.  The  air  was 
crisp  and  tingling,  and  smelled  of  wild  thyme,  the  herb  that 
nomad  women  love,  and  wear  crushed  in  their  bosoms,  or  thrust 
up  their  nostrils.  The  camels  had  not  come  yet,  for  the  men 
of  the  douar  had  not  finished  their  prayer.  In  the  wide  open 
space  where  they  had  watched  the  dance  last  night,  now  they 
were  praying,  sons  of  Ishmael,  a  crowd  of  prostrate  white 
figures,  their  faces  against  the  sand. 

Victoria  stood  waiting  by  the  big  tent,  but  she  had  not  much 
need  for  patience.  Soon  the  desert  prayer  was  over,  and  the  zmala 
was  buzzing  with  excitement,  as  it  had  buzzed  when  the 
travellers  arrived. 

The  Soudanese  Negroes  who  had  danced  the  wild  danee 
appeared  leading  two  white  meharis,  running  camels,  aristo- 
crats of  the  camel  world.  On  the  back  of  each  rose  a  cage-like 

264 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  265 

bassour,  draped  with  haoulis,  striped  rose-colour  and  purple. 
The  desert  beasts  moved  delicately,  on  legs  longer  and  more 
slender  than  those  of  pack-camels,  their  necks  swaying  like 
the  necks  of  swans  who  swim  with  the  tide.  Victoria  thought 
them  like  magnificent,  four-legged  cousins  of  ostriches,  and  the 
superciliousness  of  their  expressions  amused  her;  the  look 
they  had  of  elderly  ladies,  dissatisfied  with  every  one  but  them- 
selves, and  conscious  of  being  supremely  "well-connected." 
"A  camel  cannot  see  its  own  hump,  but  it  can  see  those  of 
others,"  she  had  heard  M'Barka  say. 

As  Victoria  stood  alone  in  the  dawn,  laughing  at  the  ghostly 
meharis,  and  looking  with  interest  at  the  heavily  laden  pack- 
camel  and  the  mule  piled  up  with  tents  and  mattresses,  Maied- 
dine  came  riding  round  from  behind  the  great  tent,  all  in 
white,  on  a  white  stallion.  Seeing  the  girl,  he  tested  her 
courage,  and  made  a  bid  for  her  admiration  by  reining  El  Biod 
in  suddenly,  making  him  stand  erect  on  his  hind  feet,  pawing 
the  air  and  dancing.  But  Roumia  as  she  was,  and  unaccus- 
tomed to  such  manoeuvres,  she  neither  ran  back  nor  screamed. 
She  was  not  ashamed  to  show  her  admiration  of  man  and 
horse,  and  Maieddine  did  not  know  that  her  thoughts  were 
more  of  El  Biod  the  white,  "drinker  of  air,"  the  saddle  of 
crimson  velvet  and  tafilet  leather  embroidered  in  gold,  and  the 
bridle  from  Figuig,  encrusted  with  silver,  than  of  the  rider. 

"This  is  the  horse  of  whom  I  told  thee,"  Maieddine  said, 
letting  El  Biod  come  down  again  on  all  four  feet.  "He  was 
blessed  as  a  foal  by  having  the  magical  words  '  Bissem  Allah* 
whispered  over  him  as  he  drew  the  first  draught  of  his  mother's 
milk.  But  thou  wilt  endow  him  with  new  gifts  if  thou  touch- 
est  his  forehead  with  thy  hand.  Wilt  thou  do  that,  for  his 
sake,  and  for  mine?" 

Victoria  patted  the  flesh-coloured  star  on  the  stallion's 
white  face,  not  knowing  that,  if  a  girl's  fingers  lie  between  the 
eyes  of  an  Arab's  horse,  it  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  is  ready 
to  ride  with  him  to  the  world's  end.  But  Maieddine  knew, 


266  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

and  the  thought  warmed  his  blood.  He  was  superstitious, 
like  all  Arabs,  and  he  had  wanted  a  sign  of  success.  Now  he 
had  it.  He  longed  to  kiss  the  little  fingers  as  they  rested  on 
El  Biod's  forehead,  but  he  said  to  himself,  "Patience;  it 
will  not  be  long  before  I  kiss  her  lips." 

"El  Biod  is  my  citadel,"  he  smiled  to  her.  "Thou  knowest 
we  have  the  same  word  for  horse  and  citadel  in  Arabic  ?  And 
that  is  because  a  brave  stallion  is  a  warrior's  citadel,  built  on 
the  wind,  a  rampart  between  him  and  the  enemy.  And  we 
think  the  angels  gave  a  horse  the  same  heart  as  a  man,  that 
he  might  be  our  friend  as  well  as  servant,  and  carry  us  on  his 
back  to  Paradise.  Whether  that  is  true  or  not,  to-day  El 
Biod  and  I  are  already  on  the  threshold  of  Paradise,  because 
we  are  thy  guides,  thy  guardians  through  the  desert  which 
we  love." 

As  he  made  this  speech,  Maleddine  watched  the  girl's  face 
anxiously,  to  see  whether  she  would  resent  the  implication,  but 
she  only  smiled  in  her  frank  way,  knowing  the  Arab  language 
to  be  largely  the  language  of  compliment;  and  he  was  en- 
couraged. Perhaps  he  had  been  over-cautious  with  her,  he 
thought;  for,  after  all,  he  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  she 
cared  for  any  man,  and  as  he  had  a  record  of  great  successes 
with  women,  why  be  so  timid  with  an  unsophisticated  girl? 
Each  day,  he  told  himself,  he  would  take  another  and  longer 
step  forward;  but  for  the  moment  he  must  be  content.  He 
began  to  talk  about  the  meharis  and  the  Negroes  who  would 
go  with  them  and  the  beasts  of  burden. 

When  it  was  time  for  Victoria  and  M'Barka  to  be  helped 
into  their  bassourahs,  Ma'ieddine  would  not  let  the  Soudanese 
touch  the  meharis.  It  was  he  who  made  the  animals  kneel, 
pulling  gently  on  the  bridle  attached  to  a  ring  in  the  left  nostril 
of  each;  and  both  subsided  gracefully  in  haughty  silence  in- 
stead of  uttering  the  hideous  gobbling  which  common  camels 
make  when  they  get  down  and  get  up,  or  when  they  are  loaded 
or  unloaded.  These  beasts,  Guelbi  and  Mansour,  had  been 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  267 

bought  from  Moors,  across  the  border  where  Oran  and  Moroc- 
co run  together,  and  had  been  trained  since  babyhood  by 
smugglers  for  smuggling  purposes.  "If  a  man  would  have 
a  silent  camel,"  said  Mai'eddine,  "  he  must  get  him  from  smug- 
glers. For  the  best  of  reasons  their  animals  are  taught  never 
to  make  a  noise." 

M'Barka  was  to  have  Fafann  in  the  same  bassowr,  but  Vic- 
toria would  have  her  rose  and  purple  cage  to  herself.  Maied- 
dine  told  her  how,  as  the  camel  rose,  she  must  first  bow  for- 
ward, then  bend  back;  and,  obeying  carefully,  she  laughed 
like  a  child  as  the  tall  mehari  straightened  the  knees  of  his  fore- 
legs, bearing  his  weight  upon  them  as  if  on  his  feet,  then  got 
to  his  hind  feet,  while  his  "front  knees,"  as  she  called  them, 
were  still  on  the  ground,  and  last  of  all  swung  himself  on  to  all 
four  of  his  heart-shaped  feet.  Oh,  how  high  in  the  air  she  felt 
when  Guelbi  was  up,  ready  to  start!  She  had  had  no  idea 
that  he  was  such  a  tall,  moving  tower,  under  the  bassour. 

"What  a  sky-scraping  camel!"  she  exclaimed.  And  then 
had  to  explain  to  Mai'eddine  what  she  meant;  for  though  he 
knew  Paris,  for  him  America  might  as  well  have  been  on 
another  planet. 

He  rode  beside  Victoria's  mehari,  when  good-byes  had 
been  said,  blessings  exchanged,  and  the  little  caravan  had 
started.  Looking  out  between  the  haoulis  which  protected 
her  from  sun  and  wind,  the  handsome  Arab  on  his  Arab  horse 
seemed  far  below  her,  as  Romeo  must  have  seemed  to  Juliet 
on  her  balcony;  and  to  him  the  fair  face,  framed  with  dazzling 
hair  was  like  a  guiding  star. 

"Thou  canst  rest  in  thy  bassour?"  he  asked.  "The  motion 
of  thy  beast  gives  thee  no  discomfort  ?  " 

"No.  Truly  it  is  a  cradle,"  she  answered.  "I  had  read 
that  to  ride  on  a  camel  was  misery,  but  this  is  like  being  rocked 
on  the  bough  of  a  tree  when  the  wind  blows." 

"  To  sit  in  a  bassour  is  very  different  from  riding  on  a  saddle, 
or  even  on  a  mattress,  as  the  poor  Bedouin  women  sometimes 


268  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ride,  or  the  dancers  journeying  from  one  place  to  another. 
I  would  not  let  thee  travel  with  me  unless  I  had  been  able  to 
offer  thee  all  the  luxuries  which  a  sultana  might  command. 
With  nothing  less  would  I  have  been  content,  because  to  me 
thou  art  a  queen." 

"At  least  thou  hast  given  me  a  beautiful  moving  throne," 
laughed  Victoria;  "and  because  thou  art  taking  me  on  it  to 
my  sister,  I'm  happy  to-day  as  a  queen." 

"Then,  if  thou  art  happy,  I  also  am  happy,"  he  said.  "And 
when  an  Arab  is  happy,  his  lips  would  sing  the  song  that  is  in 
his  heart.  Wilt  thou  be  angry  or  pleased  if  I  sing  thee  a  love- 
song  of  the  desert  ?" 

"I  cannot  be  angry,  because  the  song  will  not  really  be 
for  me,"  Victoria  answered  with  the  simplicity  which  had 
often  disarmed  and  disconcerted  Maleddine.  "And  I  shall 
be  pleased,  because  in  the  desert  it  is  good  to  hear  desert  songs." 

This  was  not  exactly  the  answer  which  he  had  wanted,  but 
he  made  the  best  of  it,  telling  himself  that  he  had  not  much 
longer  to  wait. 

"Leaders  of  camels  sing,"  he  said,  "to  make  the  beasts' 
burdens  weigh  less  heavily.  But  thy  mehari  has  no  burden. 
Thou  in  thy  bassour  art  lighter  on  his  back  than  a  feather  on 
the  wing  of  a  dove.  My  song  is  for  my  own  heart,  and  for  thine 
heart,  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  not  for  Guelbi,  though  the  meaning 
of  Guelbi  is  'heart  of  mine.' " 

Then  Maieddine  sang  as  he  rode,  his  bridle  lying  loose, 
an  old  Arab  song,  wild  and  very  sad,  as  all  Arab  music  sounds, 
even  when  it  is  the  cry  of  joy: 

"  Truly,  though  I  were  to  die,  it  would  be  naught, 
If  I  were  near  my  love,  for  whom  my  bosom  aches, 
For  whom  my  heart  is  beating. 

"  Yes,  I  am  to  die,  but  death  is  nothing 
O  ye  who  pass  and  see  me  dying, 
For  I  have  kissed  the  eyes,  the  mouth  that  I  desired." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  269 

"But  that  is  a  sad  song,"  said  Victoria,  when  Maieddine 
ceased  his  tragic  chant,  after  many  verses. 

"Thou  wouldst  not  say  so,  if  thou  hadst  ever  loved.  No- 
thing is  sad  to  a  lover,  except  to  lose  his  love,  or  not  to  have 
his  love  returned." 

"But  an  Arab  girl  has  no  chance  to  love,"  Victoria  argued. 
"  Her  father  gives  her  to  a  man  when  she  is  a  child,  and  they 
have  never  even  spoken  to  each  other  until  after  the  wedding." 

"  We  of  the  younger  generation  do  not  like  these  child  mar- 
riages," Maieddine  apologized,  eagerly.  "And,  in  any  case, 
an  Arab  man,  unless  he  be  useless  as  a  mule  without  an  eye, 
knows  how  to  make  a  girl  love  him  in  spite  of  herself.  We  are 
not  like  the  men  of  Europe,  bound  down  by  a  thousand  con- 
ventions. Besides,  we  sometimes  fall  in  love  with  women  not 
of  our  own  race.  These  we  teach  to  love  us  before  marriage." 

Victoria  laughed  again,  for  she  felt  light-hearted  in  the  beauti- 
ful morning.  "  Do  Arab  men  always  succeed  as  teachers  ?  " 

"What  is  written  is  written,"  he  answered  slowly.  "Yet 
it  is  written  that  a  strong  man  carves  his  own  fate.  And  for 
thyself,  wouldst  thou  know  what  awaits  thee  in  the  future  ?" 

"I  trust  in  God  and  my  star." 

"  Thou  wouldst  not,  then,  that  the  desert  speak  to  thee  with 
its  tongue  of  sand  out  of  the  wisdom  of  all  ages  ?" 

"What  dost  thou  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  my  cousin,  Leila  M'Barka,  can  divine  the 
future  from  the  sand  of  the  Sahara,  which  gave  her  life,  and 
life  to  her  ancestors  for  a  thousand  years  before  her.  It  is  a 
gift.  Wilt  thou  that  she  exercise  it  for  thee  to-night,  when 
we  camp  ?  " 

"There  is  hardly  any  real  sand  in  this  part  of  the  desert," 
said  Victoria,  seeking  some  excuse  not  to  hear  M'Barka's 
prophecies,  yet  not  to  hurt  M'Barka's  feelings,  or  Maieddine's. 
"  It  is  all  far  away,  where  we  see  the  hills  which  look  golden  as 
ripe  grain.  And  we  cannot  reach  those  hills  by  evening." 

"  My  cousin  always  carries  the  sand  for  her  divining.     Every 


270  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

night  she  reads  in  the  sand  what  will  happen  to  her  on  the 
morrow,  just  as  the  women  of  Europe  tell  their  fate  by  the 
cards.  It  is  sand  from  the  dunes  round  Touggourt;  and 
mingled  with  it  is  a  little  from  Mecca,  which  was  brought  to 
her  by  a  holy  man,  a  marabout.  It  would  give  her  pleasure 
to  read  the  sand  for  thee." 

"Then  I  will  ask  her  to  do  it,"  Victoria  promised. 

As  the  day  grew,  its  first  brightness  faded.  A  wind  blew  up 
from  the  south,  and  slowly  darkened  the  sky  with  a  strange 
lilac  haze,  which  seemed  tangible  as  thin  silk  gauze.  Behind 
it  the  sun  glimmered  like  a  great  silver  plate,  and  the  desert 
turned  pale,  as  in  moonlight.  Although  the  ground  was  hard 
under  the  camels'  feet,  the  wind  carried  with  it  from  far- 
away spaces  a  fine  powder  of  sand  which  at  last  forced  Victoria 
to  let  down  the  haoulis,  and  Maleddine  and  the  two  Negroes 
to  cover  their  faces  with  the  veils  of  their  turbans,  up  to  the 
eyes. 

"It  will  rain  this  afternoon,"  M'Barka  prophesied  from 
between  her  curtains. 

"No,"  Maieddine  contradicted  her.  "There  has  been  rain 
this  month,  and  thou  knowest  better  than  I  do  that  beyond 
El  Aghouat  it  rains  but  once  in  five  years.  Else,  why  do  the 
men  of  the  M'Zab  country  break  their  hearts  to  dig  deep  wells  ? 
There  will  be  no  rain.  It  is  but  a  sand-storm  we  have  to  fear." 

"  Yet  I  feel  in  the  roots  of  my  hair  and  behind  my  eyes  that  the 
rain  is  coming." 

Maieddine  shrugged  his  shoulders,  for  an  Arab  does  not  twice 
contradict  a  woman,  unless  she  be  his  wife.  But  the  lilac 
haze  became  a  pall  of  crape,  and  the  noon  meal  was  hurried. 
Maieddine  saved  some  of  the  surprises  he  had  brought  for  a 
more  favourable  time.  Hardly  had  they  started  on  again, 
when  rain  began  to  fall,  spreading  over  the  desert  in  a  quiver- 
ing silver  net  whose  threads  broke  and  were  constantly  mended 
again.  Then  the  rough  road  (to  which  the  little  caravan  did 
not  keep)  and  all  the  many  diverging  tracks  became  wide  silver 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  271 

ribbons,  lacing  the  plain  broken  with  green  dayas.  A  few 
minutes  more  —  incredibly  few,  it  seemed  to  Victoria  —  and 
the  dayas  were  deep  lakes,  where  the  water  swirled  and  bubbled 
round  the  trunks  of  young  pistachio  trees.  A  torrent  poured 
from  the  mourning  sky,  and  there  was  a  wild  sound  of  march- 
ing water,  which  Victoria  could  hear,  under  the  haoulis  which 
sheltered  her.  No  water  came  through  them,  for  the  arching 
form  of  the  bassour  was  like  the  roof  of  a  tent,  and  the  rain 
poured  down  on  either  side.  She  peeped  out,  enjoying  her  own 
comfort,  while  pitying  Mai'eddine  and  the  Negroes;  but  all 
three  had  covered  their  thin  burnouses  with  immensely  thick, 
white,  hooded  cloaks,  woven  of  sheep's  wool,  and  they  had  no 
air  of  depression.  By  and  by  they  came  to  an  oued,  which 
should  have  been  a  dry,  stony  bed  without  a  trickle  of  water; 
but  half  an  hour's  downpour  had  created  a  river,  as  if  by  black 
magic ;  and  Victoria  could  guess  the  force  at  which  it  was  rush- 
ing, by  the  stout  resistance  she  felt  Guelbi  had  to  make,  as  he 
waded  through. 

"A  little  more,  and  we  could  not  have  crossed,"  said  Maied- 
dine,  when  they  had  mounted  up  safely  on  the  other  side  of  the 
oued. 

"Art  thou  not  very  wet  and  miserable?"  the  girl  asked 
sympathetically. 

"I — miserable?"  he  echoed.  "I  —  who  am  privileged  to 
feast  upon  the  deglet  nour,  in  my  desert  ?  " 

Victoria  did  not  understand  his  metaphor,  for  the  deglet 
nour  is  the  finest  of  all  dates,  translucent  as  amber,  sweet 
as  honey,  and  so  dear  that  only  rich  men  or  great  marabouts 
ever  taste  it.  "The  deglet  nour?"  she  repeated,  puzzled. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  the  saying  that  the  smile  of  a  beautiful 
maiden  is  the  deglet  nour  of  Paradise,  and  nourishes  a  man's 
soul,  so  that  he  can  bear  any  discomfort  without  being  con- 
scious that  he  suffers  ? " 

"I  did  not  know  that  Arab  men  set  women  so  high,"  said 
Victoria,  surprised;  for  now  the  rain  had  stopped,  suddenly  as 


272  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

it  began,  and  she  could  look  out  again  from  between  the  cur- 
tains. Soon  they  would  dry  in  the  hot  sun. 

"Thou  hast  much  to  learn  then,  about  Arab  men,"  Maied- 
dine  answered,  "and  fortunate  is  thy  teacher.  It  is  little  to 
say  that  we  would  sacrifice  our  lives  for  the  women  we  love, 
because  for  us  life  is  not  that  great  treasure  it  is  to  the  Roumis, 
who  cling  to  it  desperately.  We  would  do  far  more  than  give 
our  lives  for  the  beloved  woman,  we  Arabs.  We  would  give 
our  heads,  which  is  the  greatest  sacrifice  a  man  of  Islam  could 
make." 

"  But  is  not  that  the  same  thing  as  giving  life  ?" 

"It  is  a  thousandfold  more.  It  is  giving  up  the  joy  of  eter- 
nity. For  we  are  taught  to  believe  that  if  a  man's  head  is  severed 
from  his  body,  it  alone  goes  to  Paradise.  His  soul  is  maimed. 
It  is  but  a  bodiless  head,  and  all  celestial  joys  are  for  ever 
denied  to  it." 

"How  horrible!"  the  girl  exclaimed.  "Dost  thou  really 
believe  such  a  thing  ?  " 

He  feared  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  she  would 
look  upon  him  as  an  alien,  a  pagan,  with  whom  she  could  have 
no  sympathy.  "If  I  am  more  modern  in  my  ideas  than  my 
forefathers,"  he  said  tactfully,  "I  must  not  confess  it  to  a  Rou- 
mia,  must  I,  oh  Rose  of  the  West  ?  —  for  that  would  be  disloyal 
to  Islam.  Yet  if  I  did  believe,  still  would  I  give  my  head  for 
the  love  of  the  one  woman,  the  star  of  my  destiny,  she  whose 
sweet  look  deserves  that  the  word  'ain'  should  stand  for 
bright  fountain,  and  for  the  ineffable  light  in  a  virgin's 
eyes." 

"I  did  not  know  until  to-day,  Si  Maleddine,  that  thou  wert 
a  poet,"  Victoria  told  him. 

"  All  true  Arabs  are  poets.  Our  language  —  the  literary, 
not  the  common  Arabic  —  is  the  language  of  poets,  as  thou 
must  have  read  in  thy  books.  But  I  have  now  such  inspira- 
tion as  perhaps  no  man  ever  had;  and  thou  wilt  learn  other 
things  about  me,  while  we  journey  together  in  the  desert." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  273 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  at  her  with  a  look  which  even 
her  simplicity  could  not  have  mistaken  if  she  had  thought  of  it; 
but  instantly  the  vision  of  Saidee  came  between  her  eyes  and 
his.  The  current  of  her  ideas  was  abruptly  changed.  "How 
many  days  now,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "will  the  journey -last?" 

His  face  fell.  "Art  thou  tired  already  of  this  new  way  of 
travelling,  that  thou  askest  me  a  question  thou  hast  not  once 
asked  since  we  started  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  she  "reassured  him.  "  I  love  it.  I  am  not  tired 
at  all.  But  —  I  did  not  question  thee  at  first  because  thou 
didst  not  desire  me  to  know  thy  plans,  while  I  was  still  within 
touch  of  Europeans.  Thou  didst  not  put  this  reason  in  such 
words,  for  thou  would st  not  have  let  me  feel  I  had  not  thy  full 
trust.  But  it  was  natural  thou  shouldst  not  give  it,  when  thou 
hadst  so  little  acquaintance  with  me,  and  I  did  not  complain. 
Now  it  is  different.  Even  if  I  wished,  I  could  neither  speak 
nor  write  to  any  one  I  ever  knew.  Therefore  I  question 
thee." 

"Art  thou  impatient  for  the  end?"  he  wanted  to  know, 
jealously. 

"Not  impatient.  I  am  happy.  Yet  I  should  like  to  count 
the  days,  and  say  each  night,  'So  many  more  tunes  must  the 
sun  rise  and  set  before  I  see  my  sister. ' ' 

"  Many  suns  must  rise  and  set,"  Maiieddine  confessed  dog- 
gedly. 

"But — when  first  thou  planned  the  journey,  thou  saidst; 
'  In  a  fortnight  thou  canst  send  thy  friends  news,  I  hope.' " 

"If  I  had  told  thee  then,  that  it  must  be  longer,  wouldst 
thou  have  come  with  me?  I  think  not.  For  thou  sayest  I 
did  not  wholly  trust  thee.  "  How  much  less  didst  thou  trust  me  ?" 

"  Completely.     Or  I  would  not  have  put  myself  in  thy  charge." 

"  Perhaps  thou  art  convinced  of  that  now,  when  thou  knowest 
me  and  Leila  M'Barka,  and  thou  hast  slept  in  the  tent  of  my 
father,  and  in  the  houses  of  my  friends.  But  I  saw  in  thine 
eyes  at  that  time  a  doubt  thou  didst  not  wish  to  let  thyself 


274  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

feel,  because  through  me  alone  was  there  a  way  to  reach  thy 
sister.  I  wished  to  bring  thee  to  her,  for  thy  sake,  and  for  her 
sake,  though  I  have  never  looked  upon  her  face  and  never 
shall  - 

"  Why  dost  thou  say  'never  shall '  ?  "  the  girl  broke  in  upon 
him  suddenly. 

The  blood  mounted  to  his  face.  He  had  made  a  second 
mistake,  and  she  was  very  quick  to  catch  him  up. 

"  It  was  but  a  figure  of  speech,"  he  corrected  himself. 

"Thou  dost  not  mean  that  she's  shut  up,  and  no  man  al- 
lowed to  see  her  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing.  Thou  wilt  find  out  all  for  thyself.  But 
thou  wert  anxious  to  go  to  her,  at  no  matter  what  cost,  and  I 
feared  to  dishearten  thee,  to  break  thy  courage,  while  I  was 
still  a  stranger,  and  could  not  justify  myself  in  thine  eyes.  Now, 
wilt  thou  forgive  me  an  evasion,  which  was  to  save  thee  anxiety, 
if  I  say  frankly  that,  travel  as  we  may,  we  cannot  reach  our 
journey's  end  for  many  days  yet  ?  " 

"I  must  forgive  thee,"  said  Victoria,  with  a  sigh.  "Yet  I 
do  not  like  evasions.  They  are  unworthy." 

"I  am  sorry,"  Maieddine  returned,  so  humbly  that  he  dis- 
armed her.  "It  would  be  terrible  to  offend  thee." 

"There  can  be  no  question  of  offence,"  she  consoled  him. 
"I  am  very,  very  grateful  for  all  thou  hast  done  for  me.  I 
often  lie  awake  in  the  night,  wondering  how  I  can  repay  thee 
everything." 

"When  we  come  to  the  end  of  the  journey,  I  will  tell  thee 
of  a  thing  thou  canst  do,  for  my  happiness,"  Maieddine  said 
in  a  low  voice,  as  if  half  to  himself. 

"Wilt  thou  tell  me  now  to  what  place  we  are  going?  I 
should  like  to  know,  and  I  should  like  to  hear  thee  describe 
it." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said  slowly; 
"It  is  a  grief  to  deny  thee  anything,  oh  Rose,  but  the  secret 
is  not  mine  to  tell,  even  to  thee." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  275 

"The  secret!"  she  echoed.  "Thou  hast  never  called  it  a 
secret." 

"  If  I  did  not  use  that  word,  did  I  not  give  thee  to  understand 
the  same  thing?" 

"Thou  meanest,  the  secret  about  Cassim,  my  sister's  hus- 
band ?" 

"Cassim  ben  Halim  has  ceased  to  live." 

Victoria  gave  a  little  cry.  "Dead!  But  thou  hast  made 
me  believe,  in  spite  of  the  rumours,  that  he  lived." 

"I  cannot  explain  to  thee,"  Ma'ieddine  answered  gloomily, 
as  if  hating  to  refuse  her  anything.  "In  the  end,  thou  wilt 
know  all,  and  why  I  had  to  be  silent." 

"But  my  sister?"  the  girl  pleaded.  "There  is  no  mystery 
about  her?  Thou  hast  concealed  nothing  which  concerns 
Saidee?" 

"Thou  hast  my  word  that  I  will  take  thee  to  the  place  where 
she  is.  Thou  gavest  me  thy  trust.  Give  it  me  again." 

"I  have  not  taken  it  away.     It  is  thine,"  said  Victoria. 


XXIX 

THAT  night  they  spent  in  a  caravanserai,  because, 
after  the  brief  deluge  of  rain,  the  ground  was  too 
damp  for  camping,  when  an  invalid  was  of  the 
party.  When  they  reached  the  place  after  sunset, 
the  low  square  of  the  building  was  a  block  of  marble  set  in  the 
dull  gold  of  the  desert,  carved  in  dazzling  white  against  a  deep- 
blue  evening  sky.  Like  Ben  Halim's  house,  it  was  roughly 
fortified,  with  many  loopholes  in  the  walls,  for  it  had  been 
built  to  serve  the  uses  of  less  peaceful  days  than  these.  Within 
the  strong  gates,  on  one  side  were  rooms  for  guests,  each 
with  its  own  door  and  window  opening  into  the  huge  court. 
On  another  side  of  the  square  were  the  kitchens  and  dining- 
room,  as  well  as  living-place  for  the  Arab  landlord  and  his 
hidden  family;  and  opposite  was  a  roofed,  open-fronted 
shelter  for  camels  and  other  animals,  the  ground  yellow 
with  sand  and  spilt  fodder.  WTater  overflowed  from  a  small 
well,  making  a  pool  in  the  courtyard,  in  which  ducks 
and  geese  waddled,  quacking,  turkey-cocks  fought  in 
quiet  corners,  barked  at  impotently  by  Kabyle  puppies. 
Tall,  lean  hounds  or  sloughis,  kept  to  chase  the  desert 
gazelles,  wandered  near  the  kitchens,  in  the  hope  of  bones, 
and  camels  gobbled  dismally  as  their  tired  drivers  forced 
them  to  their  knees,  or  thrust  handfuls  of  date  stones 
down  their  throats.  There  were  sheep,  too,  and  goats;  and 
even  a  cow,  the  "perpetual  mother"  loved  and  valued  by 
Arabs. 

M'Barka  refused   to   "read   the   sand"   that  night,   when 
Maiieddine  suggested  it.     The  sand  would  yield  up  its  secrets 

276 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  277 

only  under  the  stars,  she  said,  and  wished  to  wait  until  they 
should  be  in  the  tents. 

All  night,  outside  Victoria's  open  but  shuttered  window, 
there  was  a  stealthy  stirring  of  animals  in  the  dark,  a  gliding 
of  ghostly  ducks,  a  breathing  of  sheep  and  camels.  And  some- 
times the  wild  braying  of  a  donkey  or  the  yelp  of  a  dog  tore  the 
silence  to  pieces. 

The  next  day  was  hot;  so  that  at  noon,  when  they  stopped 
to  eat,  the  round  blot  of  black  shadow  under  one  small  tree  was 
precious  as  a  black  pearl.  And  there  were  flies.  Victoria 
could  not  understand  how  they  lived  in  the  desert,  miles  from 
any  house,  miles  from  the  tents  of  nomads;  where  there  was  no 
vegetation,  except  an  occasional  scrubby  tree,  or  a  few  of  the 
desert  gourds  which  the  Arabs  use  to  cure  the  bite  of  scorpions. 
But  she  had  not  seen  the  cages  of  bones,  sometimes  bleached 
like  old  ivory,  sometimes  of  a  dreadful  red,  which  told  of  way- 
side tragedies.  Always  when  they  had  come  in  sight  of  a 
skeleton,  Maieddine  had  found  some  excuse  to  make  the  girl 
look  in  another  direction;  for  he  wTanted  her  to  love  the  desert, 
not  to  feel  horror  of  its  relentlessness. 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  had  full  credit  for  his  cleverness 
as  an  organizer.  Never  before  had  they  been  so  remote  from 
civilization.  When  travelling  in  the  carriage,  stopping  each 
night  at  the  house  of  some  well-to-do  cai'd  or  adel,  it  had  been 
comparatively  easy  to  p'rovide  supplies;  but  to-day,  when 
jellied  chicken  and  cream-cheese,  almond  cakes  and  oranges 
appeared  at  luncheon,  and  some  popular  French  mineral 
water  (almost  cool  because  the  bottles  had  been  wrapped  in 
wet  blanket)  fizzed  in  the  glasses,  Victoria  said  that  Si  Maied- 
dine must  have  a  tame  djinn  for  a  slave. 

"Wait  till  evening,"  he  told  her.  "Then  perhaps  thou  may- 
est  see  something  to  please  thee."  But  he  was  delighted  with 
her  compliments,  and  made  her  drink  wrater  from  the  glass 
out  of  which  he  had  drunk,  that  she  might  be  sure  of  his  good 
faith  in  all  he  had  sworn  to  her  yesterday.  "They  who 


278  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

drink  water  from  the  same  cup  have  made  an  eternal  pact 
together,"  he  said.  "I  should  not  dare  to  be  untrue,  even  if 
I  would.  And  thou  —  I  think  that  thou  wilt  be  true  to  me." 

"Why,  certainly  I  will,"  answered  Victoria,  with  the  pretty 
American  accent  which  Stephen  Knight  had  admired  and 
smiled  at  the  night  he  heard  it  first.  "Thou  art  one  of  my 
very  best  friends." 

Maieddine  looked  down  into  the  glass  and  smiled,  as  if  he 
were  a  crystal-gazer,  and  could  see  something  under  the  bright 
surface,  that  no  one  else  could  see. 

Night  folded  down  over  the  desert,  hot  and  velvety,  like  the 
wings  of  a  mother-bird  covering  her  children;  but  before 
darkness  fell,  the  tents  glimmered  under  the  stars.  There  were 
two  only,  a  large  one  for  the  women,  and  one  very  small  for 
Maieddine.  The  Negroes  would  roll  themselves  in  their  bur- 
nouses, and  lie  beside  the  animals.  But  sleeping-time  had  not 
come  yet;  and  it  was  the  Soudanese  who  prepared  the  evening 
meal. 

One  of  them  was  a  good  cook,  and  for  that  reason  Maieddine 
had  begged  him  from  the  Agha.  He  made  desert  bread,  by 
mixing  farina  with  salted  water,  and  baking  it  on  a  flat  tin 
supported  by  stones  over  a  fire  of  dry  twigs.  When  the  thin 
loaf  was  crisply  brown  on  top,  the  man  took  it  off  the  fire,  and 
covered  it  up,  on  the  tin,  because  it  was  to  be  eaten  hot. 

While  Victoria  waited  for  all  to  be  got  ready,  she  strolled  a 
little  away  from  the  tents  and  the  group  of  resting  animals, 
having  promised  Maieddine  to  avoid  the  tufts  of  alfa 
grass,  for  fear  of  vipers  which  sometimes  lurked  among  them. 
He  would  have  liked  to  go  with  her,  but  the  unfailing  tact 
of  the  Arab  told  him  that  she  wished  to  be  alone  with  her 
thoughts,  and  he  could  only  hope  that  they  might  be  of 
him. 

Here,  it  was  no  longer  beautiful  desert.  They  had  passed 
the  charming  region  of  dayas,  and  were  entering  the  grim  world 
through  which,  long  ago,  the  ever  harried  M'Zabites  had  fled  to 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  279 

find  a  refuge  beyond  the  reach  of  greedy  pursuers.  Never-, 
theless  the  enchantment  of  the  Sahara,  in  all  its  phases,  had 
taken  hold  of  Victoria.  She  did  not  now  feel  that  the  desert 
was  a  place  where  a  tired  soul  might  find  oblivion,  though 
once  she  had  imagined  that  it  would  be  a  land  of  forgetfulness. 
Arabs  say,  in  talking  idly  to  Europeans,  that  men  forget  their 
past  in  the  desert,  but  she  doubted  if  they  really  forgot,  in 
these  vast  spaces  where  there  was  so  much  time  to  think. 
She  herself  began  to  feel  that  the  illimitable  skies,  where  flamed 
sunsets  and  sunrises  whose  miracles  no  eye  saw,  might  teach 
her  mysteries  she  had  snatched  at  and  lost,  in  dreams.  The 
immensity  of  the  desert  sent  her  soul  straining  towards  the  im- 
mensity of  the  Beyond;  and  almost,  in  flashes  elusive  as  the 
light  on  a  bird's  wing,  she  understood  what  eternity  might 
mean.  She  felt  that  the  last  days  of  her  childhood  had  been 
left  behind,  on  the  threshold  of  these  mysterious  spaces,  this 
vastness  into  which  she  had  plunged,  as  into  an  ocean.  Yet 
she  did  not  regret  the  loss,  if  it  were  a  loss.  Never,  she  thought, 
whatever  might  happen,  would  she  wish  not  to  have  known 
this  experience,  not  to  have  entered  upon  this  great  adventure, 
whose  end  Ma'ieddine  still  hid  behind  a  veil  of  secrecy. 

It  was  true,  as  she  had  told  him,  that  she  was  not  impatient, 
though  she  would  have  liked  to  count  the  days  like  the  beads 
of  a  rosary.  She  looked  forward  to  each  one,  as  to  the  dis- 
covery of  a  beautiful  thing  new  to  the  world  and  to  her;  for 
though  the  spaces  surrounding  her  were  wide  beyond  thinking, 
they  were  not  empty.  As  ships,  great  and  small,  sail  the  sea, 
so  sailed  the  caravans  of  the  nomad  tribes  in  the  desert  which 
surges  on  unchecked  to  Egypt:  nomads  who  come  and  go, 
north  and  south,  east  and  west,  under  the  burning  sun  and  the 
throbbing  stars,  as  Allah  has  written  their  comings  and  goings 
in  His  book :  men  in  white,  journeying  with  their  women,  their 
children,  and  their  trains  of  beasts,  singing  as  they  pass,  and  at 
night  under  the  black  tents  resting  to  the  music  of  the  tom- 
tom and  ralta. 


280  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

1L 

Victoria's  gaze  waded  through  the  shadows  tlmt  flow  over 
the  desert  at  evening,  deep  and  blue  and  tra^fErent  as  water. 
She  searched  the  distances  for  the  lives  that  must  be  going  on 
somewhere,  perhaps  not  far  away,  though  she  would  never  meet 
them.  They,  and  she,  were  floating  spars  in  at  great  ocean; 
and  it  made  the  ocean  more  wonderful  to  knojjlthat  the  spars 
were  there,  each  drifting  according  to  its  fate. 

The  girl  drew  into  her  lungs  the  strong  air  of  the 
desert,  born  of  the  winds  which  bring  life  or  death  to  its 
children. 

The  scent  of  the  wild  thyme,  which  she  could  never  again 
disentangle  from  thoughts  of  the  Sahara,  was  very  sweet,  even 
insistent.  She  knew  that  it  was  loved  by  nomad  women; 
and  she  let  pictures  rise  before  her  mind  of  gorgeous  dark 
girls  on  camels,  in  plumed  red  bassourahs,  going  from  one 
desert  city  to  another,  to  dance  —  cities  teeming  with  life, 
which  she  would  never  see  among  these  spaces  that  seemed 
empty  as  the  world  before  creation.  She  imagined  the  ghosts 
of  these  desert  beauties  crowding  round  her  in  the  dusk,  bring- 
ing their  fragrance  with  them,  the  wild  thyme  they  had  loved 
in  life,  crushed  in  their  bosoms;  pathetic  ghosts,  who  had 
not  learned  to  rise  beyond  what  they  had  once  desired, 
therefore  compelled  to  haunt  the  desert,  the  only  world  which 
they  had  known.  In  the  wind  that  came  sighing  to  her  ears 
from  the  dark  ravines  of  the  terrible  chebka,  she  seemed  to 
hear  battle-songs  and  groans  of  desert  men  who  had  fought 
and  died  ages  ago,  w7hose  bones  had  crumbled  under  her  feet, 
perhaps,  and  whose  descendants  had  not  changed  one  whit  in 
religion,  custom,  or  thought,  or  even  in  dress. 

Victoria  wras  glad  that  Mai'eddine  had  let  her  have  these 
desert  thoughts  alone,  for  they  made  her  feel  at  home  in  the 
strange  world  her  fancy  peopled ;  but  the  touch  of  the  thyme- 
scented  ghosts  wras  cold.  It  was  good  to  turn  back  at  last 
towards  the  tents,  and  see  how  the  camp-fire  crimsoned  the 
star-dusk. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  281 

"Thou  wert  happy  alone  ?"  Ma'ieddine  questioned  her 
jealously. 

"I  was  not  alone." 

He  understood.  "I  know.  The  desert  voices  spoke  to  thee, 
of  the  desert  mystery  which  they  alone  can  tell;  voices  we  can 
hear  only  by  listening  closely." 

"That  was  the  thought  in  my  mind.  How  odd  thou  shouldst 
put  it  into  words." 

"  Dost  thou  think  it  odd  ?  But  I  am  a  man  of  the  desert. 
I  held  back,  for  thee  to  go  alone  and  hear  the  voices,  knowing 
they  would  teach  thee  to  understand  me  and  my  people.  I 
knew,  too,  that  the  spirits  would  be  kind,  and  say  nothing  to 
frighten  thee.  Besides,  thou  didst  not  go  to  them  quite  alone, 
for  thine  own  white  angel  walked  on  thy  right  hand,  as  always." 

"Thou  makest  poetical  speeches,  Si  Ma'ieddine." 

"It  is  no  poetry  to  speak  of  thy  white  angel.  We  believe 
that  each  one  of  us  has  a  white  angel  at  his  right  hand,  record- 
ing his  good  actions.  But  ordinary  mortals  have  also  their  black 
angels,  keeping  to  the  left,  writing  down  wicked  thoughts  and 
deeds.  Hast  thou  not  seen  men  spitting  to  the  left,  to  show 
despite  of  their  black  angels  ?  But  because  thy  soul  is  never 
soiled  by  sinful  thoughts,  there  was  no  need  for  a  black  angel, 
and  whilst  thou  wert  still  a  child,  Allah  discharged  him  of  his 
mission." 

"And  thou,  Si  Maieddine,  dost  thou  think,  truly,  that  a 
black  angel  walks  ever  at  thy  left  side  ?" 

"I  fear  so."  Maieddine  glanced  to  the  left,  as  if  he  could 
see  a  dark  figure  wrriting  on  a  slate.  Things  concerning 
Victoria  must  have  been  written  on  that  slate,  plans  he  had 
made,  of  which  neither  his  white  angel  nor  hers  would  approve. 
But,  he  told  himself,  if  they  had  to  be  carried  out,  she  would 
be  to  blame,  for  driving  him  to  extremes.  "Whilst  thou  art 
near  me,"  he  said  aloud,  "my  black  angel  lags  behind,  and 
if  thou  wert  to  be  with  me  forever,  I  - 

"Since  that  cannot  be,  thou  must  find  a  better  way  to  keep 


282  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

him  in  the  background,"  Victoria  broke  in  lightly.  But  Si 
Maieddine's  compliments  were  oppressive.  She  wished  it 
were  not  the  Arab  way  to  pay  so  many.  He  had  been  different 
at  first;  and  feeling  the  change  in  him  with  a  faint  stirring  of 
uneasiness,  she  hurried  her  steps  to  join  M'Barka. 

The  invalid  reclined  on  a  rug  of  golden  jackal  skins,  and 
rested  a  thin  elbow  on  cushions  of  dyed  leather,  braided  in  in- 
tricate strips  by  Touareg  women.  Victoria  sat  beside  her, 
Mai'eddine  opposite,  and  Fafann  waited  upon  them  as  they  ate. 

After  supper,  while  the  Bedouin  woman  saw  that  everything 
was  ready  for  her  mistress  and  the  Roumia,  in  their  tent, 
M'Barka  spread  out  her  precious  sand  from  Mecca  and  the  dunes 
round  her  own  Touggourt.  She  had  it  tied  up  in  green  silk, 
such  as  is  used  for  the  turbans  of  men  who  have  visited  Mecca, 
lined  with  a  very  old  Arab  brocade,  purple  and  gold,  like  the 
banners  that  drape  the  tombs  of  marabouts.  She  opened 
the  bag  carefully,  until  it  lay  flat  on  the  ground  in  front  of  her 
knees,  the  sand  piled  in  the  middle,  as  much  perhaps  as  could 
have  been  heaped  on  a  soup  plate. 

For  a  moment  she  sat  gazing  at  the  sand,  her  lips  moving. 
She  looked  wan  as  old  ivory  in  the  dying  firelight,  and  in  the 
hollows  of  her  immense  eyes  seemed  to  dream  the  mysteries  of 
all  ages.  "Take  a  handful  of  sand,"  she  said  to  Victoria. 
"Hold  it  over  thine  heart.  Now,  wish  with  the  whole  force  of 
thy  soul." 

Victoria  wished  to  find  Saidee  safe,  and  to  be  able  to  help 
her,  if  she  needed  help. 

"Put  back  the  sand,  sprinkling  it  over  the  rest." 

The  girl,  though  not  superstitious,  could  not  help  being 
interested,  even  fascinated.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  sand 
had  a  magical  sparkle. 

M'Barka's  eyes  became  introspective,  as  if  she  waited  for 
a  message,  or  saw  a  vision.  She  was  as  strange,  as  remote  from 
modern  womanhood  as  a  Cassandra.  Presently  she  started, 
and  began  trailing  her  brown  fingers  lightly  over  the  sand, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  283 

pressing  them  down  suddenly  now  and  then,  until  she  had 
made  three  long,  wavy  lines,  the  lower  ones  rather  like  tele- 
graphic dots  and  dashes. 

"Lay  the  forefinger  of  thy  left  hand  on  any  figure  in  these 
lines,"  she  commanded.  "  Now  on  another  —  yet  again,  for 
the  third  time.  That  is  all  thou  hast  to  do.  The  rest  is  for 
me." 

She  took  from  some  hiding-place  in  her  breast  a  little  old 
note-book,  bound  in  dark  leather,  glossy  from  constant  use. 
With  it  came  a  perfume  of  sandalwood.  Turning  the  yellow 
leaves  of  the  book,  covered  with  fine  Arab  lettering,  she  read  in 
a  murmuring,  indistinct  voice,  that  sounded  to  Victoria  like  one 
of  those  desert  voices  of  which  Maleddine  had  spoken.  Also 
she  measured  spaces  between  the  figures  the  girl  had  touched, 
and  counted  monotonously. 

"Thy  wish  lies  a  long  way  from  thee,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  A  long  way !  Thou  couldst  never  reach  it  of  thyself  - 
never,  not  till  the  end  of  the  world.  I  see  thee  —  alone,  very 
helpless.  Thou  prayest.  Allah  sends  thee  a  man  —  a  strong 
man,  whose  brain  and  heart  and  arm  are  at  thy  service.  Allah 
is  great!" 

"  Tell  her  what  the  man  is  like,  cousin,"  Maleddine  prompted, 
eagerly. 

"He  is  dark,  and  young.  He  is  not  of  thy  country,  oh  Rose 
of  the  West,  but  trust  him,  rely  upon  him,  or  thou  art  undone. 
In  thy  future,  just  where  thou  hast  ceased  to  look  for  them,  I 
see  troubles  and  disappointments,  even  dangers.  That  is  the 
time,  above  all  others,  to  let  thyself  be  guided  by  the  man 
Allah  has  sent  to  be  thy  prop.  He  has  ready  wit  and  courage. 
His  love  for  thee  is  great.  It  grows  and  grows.  He  tells  thee 
of  it;  and  thou  —  thou  seest  between  him  and  thee  a  barrier, 
high  and  fearful  as  a  wall  with  sharp  knives  on  top.  For 
thine  eyes  it  is  impassable.  Thine  heart  is  sad ;  and  thy  words 
to  him  will  pierce  his  soul  with  despair.  But  think  again. 
Be  true  to  thyself  and  to  thy  star.  Speak  another  word,  and 


284  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

throw  down  that  high  barrier,  as  the  wall  of  Jericho  was  thrown 
down.  Thou  canst  do  it.  All  will  depend  on  the  decision  of  a 
moment  —  thy  whole  future,  the  future  of  the  man,  and  of  a 
woman  whose  face  I  cannot  see." 

M'Barka  smoothed  away  the  tracings  in  the  sand. 

"What — is  there  no  more?"  asked  Ma'ieddine. 

"No,  it  is  dark  before  my  eyes  now.  The  light  has  gone 
from  the  sand.  I  can  still  iell  her  a  few  little  things,  perhaps. 
Such  things  as  the  luckiest  colours  to  wear,  the  best  days  to 
choose  for  journeys.  But  she  is  different  from  most  girls.  I 
do  not  think  she  would  care  for  such  hints." 

"All  colours  are  lucky.  All  days  are  good,"  said  Victoria. 
"I  thank  thee  for  what  thou  hast  told  me,  Leila  M'Barka." 

She  did  not  wish  to  hear  more.  What  she  had  heard  was  more 
than  enough.  Not  that  she  really  believed  that  M'Barka 
could  see  into  the  future;  but  because  of  the  "dark  man." 
Any  fortune-teller  might  introduce  a  dark  man  into  the  picture 
of  a  fair  girl's  destiny;  but  the  allusions  were  so  marked  that 
Victoria's  vague  unrestfulness  became  distress.  She  tried  to 
encourage  herself  by  thinking  of  Mai'eddine's  dignified  atti- 
tude, from  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance  until  now. 
And  even  now,  he  had  changed  only  a  little.  He  was  too 
complimentary,  that  was  all;  and  the  difference  in  his  manner 
might  arise  from  knowing  her  more  intimately.  Probably  I.ella 
M'Barka,  like  many  elderly  women  of  other  and  newer  civiliza- 
tions, was  over -romantic;  and  the  best  thing  was  to  prevent  her 
from  putting  ridiculous  ideas  into  Maieddine's  head.  Such 
ideas  would  spoil  the  rest  of  the  journey  for  both. 

"Remember  all  I  have  told  thee,  when  the  time  comes," 
M'Barka  warned  her. 

"Yes — oh  yes,  I  will  remember." 

"Now  it  is  my  turn.     Read  the  sand  for  me,"  said  Maieddine. 

M'Barka  made  as  if  she  would  wrap  the  sand  in  its  bag. 
"I  can  tell  thy  future  better  another  time.  Not  now.  It  would 
not  be  wise.  Besides,  I  have  done  enough.  I  am  tired." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  285 

"Look  but  a  little  way  along  the  future,  then,  and  say  what 
thou  seest.  I  feel  that  it  will  bring  good  fortune  to  touch  the 
sand  where  the  hand  of  Ouri'eda  has  touched  it." 

Always  now,  he  spoke  of  Victoria,  or  to  her,  as  "Rose" 
(Our'ieda  in  Arabic);  but  as  M'Barka  gave  her  that  name 
also,  the  girl  could  hardly  object. 

"I  tell  thee,  instead  it  may  bring  thee  evil." 

"For  good  or  evil,  I  will  have  the  fortune  now,"  Maieddine 
insisted, 

"Be  it  upon  thy  head,  oh  cousin,  not  mine.  Take  thy 
handful  of  sand,  and  make  thy  wish." 

Ma'ieddine  took  it  from  the  place  Victoria  had  touched, 
and  his  wish  was  that,  as  the  grains  of  sand  mingled,  so  their 
destinies  might  mingle  inseparably,  his  and  hers. 

M'Barka  traced  the  three  rows  of  mystic  signs,  and  read  her 
notebook,  mumbling.  But  suddenly  she  let  it  drop  into  her 
lap,  covering  the  signs  with  both  thin  hands. 

"What  ails  thee?"  Ma'ieddine  asked,  frowning. 

"I  saw  thee  stand  still  and  let  an  opportunity  slip  by." 

"I  shall  not  do  that." 

"The  sand  has  said  it.     Shall  I  stop,  or  go  on  ?" 

"Goon." 

"I  see  another  chance  to  grasp  thy  wish.  This  time  thou 
stretchest  out  thine  hand.  I  see  thee,  in  a  great  house  —  the 
house  of  one  thou  knowest,  whose  name  I  may  not  speak. 
Thou  stretchest  out  thine  hand.  The  chance  is  given  thee " 

"What  then?" 

"Then  —  I  cannot  tell  thee,  what  then.  Thou  must  not  ask. 
My  eyes  are  clouded  with  sleep.  Come  Ourieda,  it  is  late. 
Let  us  go  to  our  tent." 

"No,"  said  Maieddine.  "Ourieda  may  go,  but  not 
thou." 

Victoria  rose  quickly  and  lightly  from  among  the  jackal 
skins  and  Touareg  cushions  which  Ma'ieddine  had  provided 
for  her  comfort.  She  bade  him  good  night,  and  with  all  his  old 


286  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

calm  courtesy  he  kissed  his  hand  after  it  had  pressed  hers. 
But  there  was  a  fire  of  anger  or  impatience  in  his  eyes. 

Fafann  was  in  the  tent,  waiting  to  put  her  mistress  to  bed, 
and  to  help  the  Roumia  if  necessary.  The  mattresses  which 
had  come  rolled  up  on  the  brown  mule's  back,  had  been  made 
into  luxurious  looking  beds,  covered  with  bright-coloured, 
Arab-woven  blankets,  beautiful  embroidered  sheets  of  linen,  and 
cushions  slipped  into  fine  pillow-cases.  Folding  frames  draped 
with  new  mosquito  nettings  had  been  arranged  to  protect  the 
sleepers'  hands  and  faces;  and  there  was  a  folding  table  on 
which  stood  French  gilt  candlesticks  and  a  glass  basin  and 
water-jug,  ornamented  with  gilded  flowers;  just  such  a  basin 
and  jug  as  Victoria  had  seen  in  the  curiosity-shop  of  Made- 
moiselle Soubise.  There  were  folded  towels,  too,  of  silvery 
damask. 

"What  wonderful  things  we  have!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 
"I  don't  see  how  we  manage  to  carry  them  all.  It  is  like  a  story 
of  the  'Arabian  Nights,'  where  one  has  but  to  rub  a  lamp,  and 
a  powerful  djinn  brings  everything  one  wants." 

"The  Lord  Maieddine  is  the  powerful  djinn  who  has 
brought  all  thou  couldst  possibly  desire,  without  giving  thee 
even  the  trouble  to  wish  for  things,"  said  Fafann,  showing  her 
white  teeth,  and  glancing  sidelong  at  the  Roumia.  "These 
are  not  all.  Many  of  these  things  thou  hast  seen  already. 
Yet  there  are  more."  Eagerly  she  lifted  from  the  ground, 
which  was  covered  with  rugs,  a  large  green  earthern  jar. 
"It  is  full  of  rosewater  to  bathe  thy  face,  for  the  water  of 
the  desert  here  is  brackish,  and  harsh  to  the  skin,  because  of 
saltpetre.  The  Sidi  ordered  enough  rosewater  to  last  till 
Ghardaia,  in  the  M'Zab  country.  Then  he  will  get  thee  more." 

"  But  it  is  for  us  both  —  for  Leila  M'Barka  more  than  for 
me,"  protested  Victoria. 

Fafann  laughed.  "My  mistress  no  longer  spends  time  in 
thinking  of  her  skin.  She  prays  much  instead;  and  the  Sidi 
has  given  her  an  amulet  which  touched  the  sacred  Black  Stone 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  287 

at  Mecca.  To  her,  that  is  worth  all  the  rest;  and  it  is  worth 
this  great  journey,  which  she  takes  with  so  much  pain.  The 
rose  water,  and  the  perfumes  from  Tunis,  and  the  softening 
creams  made  in  the  tent  of  the  Sidi's  mother,  are  all  offered  to 
thee." 

"  No,  no,"  the  girl  persisted ,  "  I  am  sure  they  are  meant  more 
for  Leila  M'Barka  than  for  me.  She  is  his  cousin." 

"Hast  thou  never  noticed  the  caravans,  when  they  have 
passed  us  in  the  desert,  how  it  is  always  the  young  and  beauti- 
ful women  who  rest  in  the  bassourahs,  while  the  old  ones  trot 
after  the  camels  ?" 

"I  have  noticed  that,  and  it  is  very  cruel." 

"  Why  cruel,  oh  Roumia  ?  They  have  had  their  day.  And 
when  a  man  has  but  one  camel,  he  puts  upon  its  back  his 
treasure,  the  joy  of  his  heart.  A  man  must  be  a  man,  so  say 
even  the  women.  And  the  Sidi  is  a  man,  as  well  as  a  great  lord. 
He  is  praised  by  all  as  a  hunter,  and  for  the  straightness  of  his 
aim  with  a  gun.  He  rides,  thou  seest,  as  if  he  were  one  with 
his  horse,  and  as  he  gallops  in  the  desert,  so  would  he  gallop  to 
battle  if  need  be,  for  he  is  brave  as  the  Libyan  lion,  and  strong 
as  the  heroes  of  old  legends.  Yet  there  is  nothing  too  small  for 
him  to  bend  his  mind  upon,  if  it  be  for  thy  pleasure  and  com- 
fort. Thou  shouldst  be  proud,  instead  of  denying  that  all  the 
Sidi  does  is  for  thee.  My  mistress  would  tell  thee  so,  and  many 
women  would  be  dying  of  envy,  daughters  of  Aghas  and  even 
of  Bach  Aghas.  But  perhaps,  as  thou  art  a  Roumia,  thou 
hast  different  feelings." 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Victoria  humbly,  for  she  was  crushed 
by  Fafann's  fierce  eloquence.  And  for  a  moment  her  heart 
was  heavy;  but  she  would  not  let  herself  feel  a  presentiment 
of  trouble. 

"What  harm  can  happen  to  me?"  she  asked.  "I  haven't 
been  guided  so  far  for  nothing.  Si  Maieddine  is  an  Arab,  and 
his  ways  aren't  like  the  ways  of  men  I've  known,  that's  all. 
My  sister's  husband  was  his  friend  —  a  great  friend,  whom 


288  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

he  loved.  What  he  does  is  more  for  Cassim's  sake  than 
mine." 

Her  cheeks  were  burning  after  the  long  day  of  sun,  and 
because  of  her  thoughts;  yet  she  was  not  glad  to  bathe  them 
with  Si  Maieddine's  fragrant  offering  of  rosewater,  some  of 
which  Fafann  poured  into  the  glass  basin. 

Not  far  away  Maieddine  was  still  sitting  by  the  fire  with 
M'Barka. 

"  Tell  me  now,"  he  said.     "  What  didst  thou  see  ?  " 

"Nothing  clearly.  Another  time,  cousin.  Let  me  have  my 
mind  fresh.  I  am  like  a  squeezed  orange." 

"Yet  I  must  know,  or  I  shall  not  sleep.  Thou  art  hiding 
something." 

"All  was  vague  —  confused.  I  saw  as  through  a  torn  cloud. 
There  was  the  great  house.  Thou  wert  there,  a  guest.  Thou 
wert  happy,  thy  desire  granted,  and  then  —  by  Allah,  Maied- 
dine, I  could  not  see  what  happened ;  but  the  voice  of  the  sand 
was  like  a  storm  in  my  ears,  and  the  knowledge  came  to  me 
suddenly  that  thou  must  not  wait  too  long  for  thy  wish  —  the 
wish  made  with  the  sand  against  thine  heart." 

"Thou  couldst  not  see  my  wish.     Thou  art  but  a  woman." 

^  saw,  because  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  have  the  gift.  Thou 
knowest  I  have  the  gift.  Do  not  wait  too  long,  or  thou  mayest 
wait  for  ever." 

"  What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ?  " 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  advise.  As  thou  saidst,  I  am  but  a 
woman.  Only  —  act!  That  is  the  message  of  the  sand. 
And  now,  unless  thou  wouldst  have  my  dead  body  finish  the 
journey  in  the  bassour,  take  me  to  my  tent." 

Maieddine  took  her  to  the  tent.  And  he  asked  no  more 
questions.  But  all  night  he  thought  of  what  M'Barka  had 
said,  and  the  message  of  the  sand.  It  was  a  dangerous  mes- 
sage, yet  the  counsel  was  after  his  own  heart. 


XXX 

IN  THE  morning  he  was  still  brooding  over  the  message; 
and  as  they  travelled  through  the  black  desert  on  the 
way  to  Ghardaia  and  the  hidden  cities  of  the  M'Zab, 
he  fell  into  long  silences.      Then,  abruptly,  he  would 
rouse  himself  to  gaiety  and  animation,  telling  old  legends  or 
new  tales,  strange  dramas  of  the  desert,  very  seldom  comedies; 
for  there  are  few  comedies  in  the  Sahara,  except  for  the 
children. 

Sometimes  he  was  in  danger  of  speaking  out  words  which 
said  themselves  over  and  over  in  his  head.  "If  I  'wait  too  long, 
I  may  wait  for  ever.'  Then,  by  Allah,  I  will  not  wait."  But 
he  kept  his  tongue  in  control,  though  his  brain  was  hot  as  if 
he  wore  no  turban,  under  the  blaze  of  the  sun.  "I  will  leave 
things  as  they  are  while  we  are  in  this  black  Gehenna,"  he 
determined.  "What  is  written  is  written.  Yet  who  has  seen 
the  book  of  the  writing  ?  And  there  is  a  curse  on  all  this  coun- 
try, till  the  M'Zab  is  passed." 

After  Bou-Saada,  he  had  gradually  forgotten,  or  almost  for- 
gotten, his  fears.  He  had  been  happy  in  the  consciousness  of 
power  that  came  to  him  from  the  desert,  where  he  was  at  home, 
and  Europeans  were  helpless  strangers.  But  now,  M'Barka's 
warnings  had  brought  the  fears  back,  like  flapping  ravens.  He 
had  planned  the  little  play  of  the  sand-divining,  and  at  first  it 
had  pleased  him.  M'Barka's  vision  of  the  dark  man  who 
was  not  of  Victoria's  country  could  not  have  been  better;  and 
because  he  knew  that  his  cousin  believed  in  the  sand,  he  was 
superstitiously  impressed  by  her  prophecy  and  advice.  In 
the  end,  he  had  forced  her  to  go  on  when  she  would  have  stopped, 


290  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

yet  he  was  angry  with  her  for  putting  doubts  into  his  mind, 
doubts  of  his  own  wisdom  and  the  way  to  succeed.  With  a  girl 
of  his  own  people,  or  indeed  with  any  girl,  if  he  had  not  loved 
too  much,  he  would  have  had  no  doubts.  But  he  did  not  know 
how  it  was  best  to  treat  Victoria.  His  love  for  her  was  so  strong, 
that  it  was  like  fear,  and  in  trying  to  understand  her,  he  changed 
his  mind  a  dozen  times  a  day.  He  was  not  used  to  this  un- 
certainty, and  hated  to  think  that  he  could  be  weak.  Would 
she  turn  from  him,  if  he  broke  the  tacit  compact  of  loyal  friend- 
ship which  had  made  her  trust  him  as  a  guide  ?  He  could  not 
tell ;  though  an  Arab  girl  would  scorn  him  for  keeping  it.  "  Per- 
haps at  heart  all  women  are  alike,"  he  thought.  "And  if, 
now  that  I  am  warned,  I  should  risk  waiting,  I  would  be  no 
man."  At  last,  the  only  question  left  in  his  mind  was, 
"When?" 

For  two  days  they  journeyed  through  desolation,  in  a  burnt- 
out  world  where  nothing  had  colour  except  the  sad  violet  sky 
which  at  evening  flamed  with  terrible  sunsets,  cruelly  beauti- 
ful as  funeral  pyres.  The  fierce  glow  set  fire  to  the  black  rocks 
which  pointed  up  like  dragons'  teeth,  and  turned  them  to  glit- 
tering copper;  polishing  the  dead  white  chalk  of  the  chebka 
to  the  dull  gleam  of  dirty  silver.  Far  away  there  were  always 
purple  hills,  behind  which  it  seemed  that  hope  and  beauty 
might  come  to  life  again;  but  travelling  from  morning  to  night 
they  never  appeared  any  nearer.  The  evil  magic  of  the  black 
desert,  which  Mai'eddine  called  accursed  because  of  the 
M'Zabites,  made  the  beautiful  hills  recede  always,  leaving  only 
the  ugly  brown  waves  of  hardened  earth,  which  were  dishearten- 
ing to  climb,  painful  to  descend. 

At  last,  in  the  midst  of  black  squalor,  they  came  to  an  oasis 
like  a  bright  jewel  fallen  in  the  trough  of  swine.  It  was  Berr- 
yan,  the  first  town  of  the  M'Zabites,  people  older  than  the 
Arabs,  and  hated  by  them  with  a  hatred  more  bitter  than  their 
loathing  for  Jews. 

Mai'eddine  would  not  pass  through  the  town,  since  it  could 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  291 

be  avoided,  because  in  his  eyes  the  Beni-M'Zab  were  dogs,  and 
in  their  eyes  he,  though  heir  to  an  agha,  would  be  as  carrion. 

Sons  of  ancient  Phoenicians,  merchants  of  Tyre  and  Car- 
thage, there  never  had  been,  never  would  be,  any  lust  for  battle 
in  the  hearts  of  the  M'Zabites.  Their  warfare  had  been  waged 
by  cunning,  and  through  mercenaries.  They  had  fled  before 
Arab  warriors,  driven  from  place  to  place  by  brave,  scornful 
enemies,  and  now,  safely  established  in  their  seven  holy  cities, 
protected  by  vast  distances  and  the  barrier  of  the  black  desert, 
they  revenged  their  wrongs  with  their  wits,  being  rich,  and  great 
usurers.  Though  Mussulmans  in  these  days,  the  schisms  with 
which  they  desecrated  the  true  religion  were  worse  in  the  eyes 
of  Maieddine  than  the  foolish  faith  of  Christians,  who,  at  least, 
were  not  backsliders.  He  would  not  even  point  out  to  Vic- 
toria the  strange  minaret  of  the  Abadite  mosque  at  Berryan, 
which  tapered  like  a  brown  obelisk  against  the  shimmering 
sky,  for  to  him  its  very  existence  was  a  disgrace. 

"Do  not  speak  of  it;  do  not  even  look  at  it,"  he  said  to  her, 
when  she  exclaimed  at  the  great  Cleopatra  Needle.  But  she 
did  look,  having  none  of  his  prejudices,  and  he  dared  not  bid 
her  let  down  the  curtains  of  her  bassour,  as  he  would  if  she  had 
been  a  girl  of  his  own  blood. 

The  extraordinary  city,  whose  crowded,  queerly-built  houses 
were  blocks  of  gold  in  the  sunlight,  seemed  beautiful  to  Vic- 
toria, coming  in  sight  of  it  suddenly  after  days  in  the  black 
desert.  The  other  six  cities,  called  holy  by  the  Beni-M'Zab, 
were  far  away  still.  She  knew  this,  because  Maieddine  had 
told  her  they  would  not  descend  into  the  Wady  M'Zab  till  next 
day.  Berryan  and  Guerrara  were  on  the  upper  plateau;  and 
Victoria  could  hardly  bear  to  pass  by,  for  Berryan  was  by  far 
the  most  Eastern-seeming  place  she  had  seen.  She  wondered  if, 
should  she  ask  him  as  a  favour,  Maieddine  would  rest  there 
that  night,  instead  of  camping  somewhere  farther  on,  in  the 
hideous  desert;  for  already  it  was  late  afternoon.  But  she 
would  ask  nothing  of  him  now,  for  he  was  no  longer  quite  the 


292  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

trusty  friend  she  had  persuaded  herself  to  think  him.  One 
night,  since  the  sand-divining,  she  had  had  a  fearful  dream 
concerning  Maleddine.  Outside  her  tent  she  had  heard  a  soft 
padding  sound,  and  peeping  from  under  the  flap,  she  had  seen 
a  splendid,  tawny  tiger,  who  looked  at  her  with  brilliant  topaz 
eyes  which  fascinated  her  so  that  she  could  not  turn  away. 
But  she  knew  that  the  animal  was  Mai'eddine;  that  each  night 
he  changed  himself  into  a  tiger;  and  that  as  a  tiger  he  was  more 
his  real  self  than  when  by  day  he  appeared  as  a  man. 

They  filed  past  Berryan;  the  meharis,  the  white  stallion, 
the  pack-camel,  and  the  mule,  in  slow  procession,  along  a  rough 
road  which  wound  close  to  the  green  oasis.  And  from  among 
the  palm  trees  men  and  women  and  little  children,  gorgeous 
as  great  tropical  birds,  in  their  robes  of  scarlet,  ochre-yellow, 
and  emerald,  peered  at  the  little  caravan  with  cynical  curiosity. 
Victoria  looked  back  longingly,  for  she  knew  that  the  way 
from  Berryan  to  the  Wady  M'Zab  would  be  grim  and  toilsome 
under  the  burning  sun.  Hill  after  hill,  they  mounted  and 
descended;  hills  stony  yet  sandy,  always  the  same  dull  colour, 
and  so  shapeless  as  to  daze  the  brain  with  their  monotony. 
But  towards  evening,  when  the  animals  had  climbed  to  the  crest 
of  a  hill  like  a  dingy  wave,  suddenly  a  white  obelisk  shot  up, 
pale  and  stiff  as  a  dead  man's  finger.  Tops  of  tall  palms 
were  like  the  dark  plumes  on  the  heads  of  ten  thousand  danc- 
ing women  of  the  Sahara,  and  as  a  steep  descent  began,  there 
glittered  the  five  hidden  cities,  like  a  strange  fairyland  lost  in 
the  desert.  The  whole  Wady  M'Zab  lay  under  the  eyes  of  the 
travellers,  as  if  they  looked  down  over  the  rim  of  an  immense 
cup.  Here,  some  who  were  left  of  the  sons  of  Tyre  and 
Carthage  dwelt  safe  and  snug,  crouching  in  the  protection  of 
the  valley  they  had  found  and  reclaimed  from  the  abomination 
of  desolation. 

It  seemed  to  Victoria  that  she  looked  on  one  of  the  great  sights 
of  the  world :  the  five  cities,  gleaming  white,  and  glowing  bronze, 
closely  built  on  their  five  conical  hills,  which  rose  steeply  from 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  293 

the  flat  bottom  of  the  gold-lined  cup  —  Ghardaia,  Beni-Isguen, 
Bou-Noura,  Melika,  and  El-Ateuf.  The  top  of  each  hill  was 
prolonged  to  a  point  by  the  tapering  minaret  of  one  of  those 
Abadite  mosques  which  the  girl  thought  the  most  Eastern  of 
all  things  imported  from  the  East.  The  oasis  which  gave 
wealth  to  the  M'Zabites  surged  round  the  towns  like  a  green 
sea  at  ebb  tide,  sucked  back  from  a  strand  of  gold ;  and  as  the 
caravan  wound  down  the  wonderful  road  with  which  the  Beni- 
M'Zab  had  traced  the  sheer  side  of  their  enchanted  cup,  the 
groaning  of  hundreds  of  well-chains  came  plaintively  up  on  the 
wind. 

The  well-stones  had  the  obelisk  shape  of  the  minarets,  in 
miniature;  and  Negroes  —  freed  slaves  of  the  rich  M'Zabites — 
running  back  and  forth  in  pairs,  to  draw  the  water,  were  mere 
struggling  black  ants,  seen  from  the  cup's  rim.  The  houses 
of  the  five  towns  were  like  bleached  skeletons,  and  the  arches 
that  spanned  the  dark,  narrow  streets  were  their  ribs. 

Arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  it  was  necessary  to  pass 
through  the  longest  and  only  modern  street  of  Ghardaia,  the 
capital  of  the  M'Zab.  A  wind  had  sprung  up,  to  lift  the  sand 
which  sprinkled  the  hard-trodden  ground  with  thick  powder 
of  gold  dust,  and  whirl  it  westward  against  the  fire  of  sunset, 
red  as  a  blowing  spray  of  blood.  "It  is  a  sign  of  trouble  when 
the  sand  of  the  desert  turns  to  blood,"  muttered  Fafann  to  her 
mistress,  quoting  a  Bedouin  proverb. 

The  men  of  the  M'Zab  do  not  willingly  give  lodging  to 
strangers,  least  of  all  to  Arabs;  and  at  Beni-Isguen,  holy  city 
and  scene  of  strange  mysteries,  no  stranger  may  rest  for  the 
night.  But  Maieddine,  respected  by  the  ruling  power,  as  by 
his  own  people,  had  a  friend  or  two  at  every  Bureau  Arabe  and 
military  station.  A  French  officer  stationed  at  Ghardaia  had 
married  a  beautiful  Arab  girl  of  good  family  distantly  related  to 
the  Agha  of  the  Ouled-Serrin,  and  being  at  Algiers  on  official 
business,  his  wife  away  at  her  father's  tent,  he  had  promised  to 
lend  his  house,  a  few  miles  out  of  the  town,  to  Si  Maieddine.  It 


294  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

was  a  long,  low  building  of  toub,  the  sun-dried  sand-blocks  of 
which  most  houses  are  made  in  the  ksour,  or  Sahara  villages, 
but  it  had  been  whitewashed,  and  named  the  Pearl. 

There  they  slept,  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  oasis,  and  early 
next  morning  went  on. 

As  soon  as  they  had  passed  out  of  this  hidden  valley,  where 
a  whole  race  of  men  had  gathered  for  refuge  and  wealth-build- 
ing, Victoria  felt,  rather  than  saw,  a  change  in  Maiieddine.  She 
hardly  knew  how  to  express  it  to  herself,  unless  it  was  that  he  had 
become  more  Arab.  His  courtesies  suggested  less  the  modern 
polish  learned  from  the  French  (in  which  he  could  excel  when 
he  chose)  than  the  almost  royal  hospitality  of  some  young  Bey 
escorting  a  foreign  princess  through  his  dominions.  Always 
"trds-male,"  as  Frenchwomen  pronounced  him  admiringly,  Si 
Mai'eddine  began  to  seem  masculine  in  an  untamed,  tigerish 
way.  He  was  restless,  and  would  not  always  be  contented  to 
ride  El  Biod,  beside  the  tall,  white  mehari,  but  would  gallop 
far  ahead,  and  then  race  back  to  rejoin  the  little  caravan, 
rushing  straight  at  the  animals  as  if  he  must  collide  with  them, 
then,  at  the  last  inctant,  when  Victoria's  heart  bounded,  rein- 
ing in  his  horse,  so  that  El  Biod's  forefeet  —  shod  Arab- 
fashion — pawed  the  air,  and  the  animal  sat  upon  his  haunches, 
muscles  straining  and  rippling  under  the  creamlike  skin. 

Or,  sometimes,  Maieddine  would  spring  from  the  white  stal- 
lion's back,  letting  El  Biod  go  free,  while  his  master  marched 
beside  Guelbi,  with  that  panther  walk  that  the  older  races, 
untrammelled  by  the  civilization  of  towns,  have  kept  unspoiled. 

The  Arab's  eyes  were  more  brilliant,  never  dreamy  now,  and 
he  looked  at  Victoria  often,  with  disconcerting  steadiness,  in- 
stead of  lowering  his  eyelids  as  men  of  Islam,  accustomed  to  the 
mystery  of  the  veil,  unconsciously  do  with  European  women 
whom  they  respect,  though  they  do  not  understand. 

So  they  went  on,  travelling  the  immeasurable  desert;  and 
Victoria  had  not  asked  again,  since  Ma'ieddine's  refusal,  the 
name  of  the  place  to  which  they  were  bound.  M'Barka  seemed 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  295 

brighter,  as  If  she  looked  forward  to  something,  each  day  closer 
at  hand ;  and  her  courage  would  have  given  Victoria  confidence, 
even  if  the  girl  had  been  inclined  to  forebodings.  They  were 
going  somewhere,  Leila  M'Barka  knew  where,  and  looked 
forward  joyously  to  arriving.  The  girl  fancied  that  their  des- 
tination was  the  same,  though  at  first  she  had  not  thought  so. 
Words  that  M'Barka  let  drop  inadvertently  now  and  then, 
built  up  this  impression  in  her  mind. 

The  "habitude  du  Sud,"  as  Mai'eddine  called  it,  when  oc- 
casionally they  talked  French  together,  was  gradually  taking 
hold  of  the  girl.  Sometimes  she  resented  it,  fearing  that  by 
this  time  it  must  have  altogether  enslaved  Saidee,  and  dreading 
the  insidious  fascination  for  herself;  sometimes  she  found 
pleasure  and  peace  in  it;  but  in  every  mood  the  influence  was 
hard  to  throw  off. 

"The  desert  has  taken  hold  of  thee,"  Mai'eddine  said  one 
day,  when  he  had  watched  her  in  silence  for  a  while,  and  seen 
the  rapt  look  in  her  eyes.  "I  knew  the  time  "would  come, 
sooner  or  later.  It  has  come  now." 

"No,"  Victoria  answered.     "I  do  not  belong  to  the  desert." 

"If  not  to-day,  then  to-morrow,"  he  finished,  as  if  he  had 
not  heard. 

They  were  going  on  towards  Ouargla.  So  much  he  had  told 
her,  though  he  had  quickly  added, "But  we  shall  not  stop  there." 
He  was  waiting  still,  though  they  were  out  of  the  black  desert 
and  the  accursed  land  of  the  renegades.  He  was  not  afraid 
of  anything  or  any  one  here,  in  this  vastness,  where  a  European 
did  not  pass  once  a  year,  and  few  Arabs,  only  the  Spahis  carry- 
ing mails  from  one  Bureau  Arabe  to  another,  or  tired  soldiers 
changing  stations.  The  beautiful  country  of  the  golden  dunes, 
with  its  horizon  like  a  stormy  sea,  was  the  place  of  which  he 
said  in  his  thoughts,  "It  shall  happen  there." 

On  the  other  side  of  Ghardaia,  even  when  Victoria  had 
ceased  to  be  actually  impatient  for  her  meeting  with  Saidee, 
she  had  longed  to  know  the  number  of  days,  that  she  might 


296  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

count  them.  But  now  she  had  drunk  so  deep  of  the  colour 
and  the  silence  that,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  was  passing  beyond 
that  phase.  What  were  a  few  days  more,  after  so  many  years  ? 
She  wondered  how  she  could  have  longed  to  go  flying  across 
the  desert  in  Nevill  Caird's  big  motor-car;  nevertheless,  she 
never  ceased  to  wish  for  Stephen  Knight.  Her  thoughts  of 
him  and  of  the  desert  were  inextricably  and  inexplicably  min- 
gled, more  than  ever  since  the  night  when  she  had  danced  in  the 
Agha's  tent,  and  Stephen's  face  had  come  before  her  eyes,  as 
if  in  answer  to  her  call.  Constantly  she  called  him  now.  When 
there  was  some  fleeting,  beautiful  effect  of  light  or  shadow, 
she  said,  "How  I  wish  he  were  here  to  see  that!"  She  never 
named  him  in  her  mind.  He  was  "  he  " :  that  was  name  enough. 
Yet  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  was  "in  love"  with  Knight. 
She  had  never  had  time  to  think  about  falling  in  love.  There 
had  always  been  Saidee,  and  dancing;  and  to  Victoria,  the 
desire  to  make  money  enough  to  start  out  and  find  her  sister, 
had  taken  the  place  which  ideas  of  love  and  marriage  fill  in 
most  girls'  heads.  Therefore  she  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  her  feeling  for  Stephen.  But  when  a  question  floated  into 
her  brain,  she  answered  it  simply  by  explaining  that  he  was 
different  from  any  other  man  she  had  met;  and  that,  though  she 
had  known  him  only  a  few  days,  from  the  first  he  had  seemed 
more  a  friend  than  Si  Maieddine,  or  any  one  else  whom  she 
knew  much  better  than  Stephen. 

As  they  travelled,  she  had  many  thoughts  which  pleased  her — 
thoughts  which  could  have  come  to  her  nowhere  else  except  in 
the  desert,  and  often  she  talked  to  herself,  because  M'Barka 
could  not  understand  her  feelings,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  make 
Maieddine  understand. 

"Burning,  burning,"  was  the  adjective  which  she  repeated 
oftenest,  in  an  almost  awestruck  whisper,  as  her  eyes  travelled 
over  immense  spaces ;  for  she  thought  that  the  desert  might  have 
dropped  out  of  the  sun.  The  colour  of  sand  and  sky  was  colour 
on  fire,  blazing.  The  whole  Sahara  throbbed  with  the  un- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  297 

imaginable  fire  of  creative  cosmic  force,  deep,  vital  orange, 
needed  by  the  primitive  peoples  of  the  earth  who  had  not 
risen  high  enough  yet  to  deserve  or  desire  the  finer  vibrations. 

As  she  leaned  out  of  the  bassour,  the  heat  of  the  sun  pressed 
on  her  lightly  veiled  head,  like  the  golden  lid  of  a  golden  box. 
She  could  feel  it  as  an  actual  weight;  and  invisible  behind  it 
a  living  power  which  could  crush  her  in  an  instant,  as  the  paw 
of  a  lion  might  crush  a  flower  petal. 

Africa  itself  was  this  savage  power,  fierce  as  fire,  ever  smoul- 
dering, sometimes  flaming  with  the  revolt  of  Islam  against 
other  creeds;  but  the  heart  of  the  fire  was  the  desert.  Only 
the  shady  seguias  in  the  oasis  towns  cooled  it,  like  children's 
fingers  on  a  madman's  forehead;  or  the  sound  of  a  boy's  flute 
in  a  river  bed,  playing  the  music  of  Pan,  changeless,  monoto- 
nous yet  thrilling,  as  the  music  of  earth  and  all  Nature. 

There  were  tracts  in  the  desert  which  colour-blind  people 
might  have  hated;  but  Victoria  grew  to  think  the  dreariest 
stretches  beautiful;  and  even  the  occasional  plagues  of  flies 
which  irritated  M'Barka  beyond  endurance,  only  made  Vic- 
toria laugh. 

Sometimes  came  caravans,  in  this  billowing  immensity  be- 
tween the  M'Zab  and  Ouargla  —  city  of  Solomon,  whither 
the  Queen  of  Sheba  rode  on  her  mehari:  caravans  blazing  red 
and  yellow,  which  swept  like  slow  lines  of  flame  across  the 
desert,  going  east  towards  the  sunrise,  or  west  where  the  sunset 
spreads  over  the  sky  like  a  purple  fan  opening,  or  the  tail  of  a 
celestial  peacock. 

What  Victoria  had  once  imagined  the  desert  to  be  of  vast 
emptiness,  and  what  she  found  it  to  be  of  teeming  life,  was  like 
the  difference  between  a  gold-bright  autumn  leaf  seen  by  the 
naked  eye,  and  the  same  leaf  swarming  under  a  powerful  micro- 
scope. 

The  girl  never  tired  of  following  with  her  eyes  the  vague 
tracks  of  caravans  that  she  could  see  dimly  sketched  upon  the 
sand,  vanishing  in  the  distance,  like  lines  traced  on  the  water 


298  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

by  a  ship.  She  would  be  gazing  at  an  empty  horizon  when 
suddenly  from  over  the  waves  of  the  dunes  would  appear  a  dark 
fleet;  a  procession  of  laden  camels  like  a  flotilla  of  boats  in  a 
desolate  sea. 

They  were  very  effective,  as  they  approached  across  the 
desert,  these  silent,  solemn  beasts,  but  Victoria  pitied  them, 
because  they  were  made  to  work  till  they  fell,  and  left  to  die 
in  the  shifting  sand,  when  no  longer  useful  to  their  unloving 
masters. 

"My  poor  dears,  this  is  only  one  phase,"  she  would  say  to 
them  as  they  plodded  past,  their  feet  splashing  softly  down  on 
the  sand  like  big  wet  sponges,  leaving  heart-shaped  marks 
behind,  which  looked  like  violets  as  the  hollows  filled  up  with 
shadow.  "Wait  till  your  next  chance  on  earth.  I'm  sure  it 
will  make  up  for  everything." 

But  Maiieddine  told  her  there  was  no  need  to  be  sorry  for 
the  sufferings  of  camels,  since  all  were  deserved.  Once,  he 
said,  they  had  been  men  —  a  haughty  tribe  who  believed  them- 
selves better  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  broke  off  from 
the  true  religion,  and  lest  their  schism  spread,  Allah  turned  the 
renegades  into  camels.  He  compelled  them  to  bear  the  weight 
of  their  sins  in  the  shape  of  humps,  and  also  to  carry  on  their 
backs  the  goods  of  the  Faithful,  whose  beliefs  they  had  trampled 
under  foot.  While  keeping  their  stubbornness  of  spirit  they 
must  kneel  to  receive  their  loads,  and  rise  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand. Remembering  their  past,  they  never  failed  to  protest 
with  roarings,  against  these  indignities,  nor  did  their  faces 
ever  lose  the  old  look  of  sullen  pride.  But,  in  common  with 
the  once  human  storks,  they  had  one  consolation.  Their  sins 
expiated,  they  would  reincarnate  as  men;  and  some  other  re- 
bellious tribe  would  take  their  place  as  camels. 

Five  days'  journeying  from  Ghardaia  brought  the  travellers 
to  a  desert  world  full  of  movement  and  interest.  There  were 
many  caravans  going  northward.  Pretty  girls  smiled  at  them 
from  swaying  red  bassourahs,  sitting  among  pots  and  pans, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  299 

and  bundles  of  finery.  Little  children  in  nests  of  scarlet  rags, 
on  loaded  camels,  clasped  squawking  cocks  and  hens,  tied  by 
the  leg.  Splendid  Negroes  with  bare  throats  like  columns  of 
black  marble  sang  strange,  chanting  songs  as  they  strode  along. 
White-clad  Arabs  whose  green  turbans  told  that  they  had  been 
to  Mecca,  walked  beside  their  young  wives'  camels.  Withered 
crones  in  yellow  smocks  trudged  after  the  procession,  driving 
donkeys  weighed  down  with  sheepskins  full  of  oil.  Baby 
camels  with  waggling,  tufted  humps  followed  their  mothers. 
Slim  grey  sloughis  and  Kabyle  dogs  quarrelled  with  each  other, 
among  flocks  of  black  and  white  goats;  and  at  night,  the  sky 
pulsed  with  the  fires  of  desert  encampments,  rosy  as  northern 
lights. 

Just  before  the  walled  city  of  Ouargla,  Victoria  saw  her 
first  mirage,  clear  as  a  dream  between  waking  and  sleeping. 
It  was  a  salt  lake,  in  which  Guelbi  and  the  other  animals  ap- 
peared to  wade  knee-deep  in  azure  waves,  though  there  was 
no  water;  and  the  vast,  distant  oasis  hovered  so  close  that  the 
girl  almost  believed  she  had  only  to  stretch  out  her  hand  and 
touch  the  trunks  of  the  crowding  palm  trees. 

M'Barka  was  tired,  and  they  rested  for  two  days  in  the 
strange  Ghuara  town,  the  "City  of  Roses,"  founded  (according 
to  legend),  by  Solomon,  King  of  Jerusalem,  and  built  for  him 
by  djenoum  and  angels  in  a  single  night.  They  lived  as  usual 
in  the  house  of  the  Caid,  whose  beautiful  twin  daughters  told 
Victoria  many  things  about  the  customs  of  the  Ghuara  people, 
descendants  of  the  ancient  Garamantes.  How  much  happier 
and  freer  they  were  than  Arab  girls,  how  much  purer  though 
gayer  was  the  life  at  Ouargla,  Queen  of  the  Oases,  than  at  any 
other  less  enlightened  desert  city;  how  marvellous  was  the 
moulet-el-rass,  the  dance  cure  for  headache  and  diseases  of  the 
brain;  how  wonderful  were  the  women  soothsayers;  and  what 
a  splendid  thing  it  was  to  see  the  bridal  processions  passing 
through  the  streets,  on  the  one  day  of  the  year  when  there  is 
marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  in  Ouargla. 


300  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

The  name  of  the  prettier  twin  was  Zorah,  and  she  had  black 
curls  which  fell  straight  down  over  her  brilliant  eyes,  under 
a  scarlet  head-dress.  "Dost  thou  love  Si  Maieddine?"  she 
asked  the  Roumia,  with  a  kind  of  innocent  boldness. 

"As  a  friend  who  has  been  very  kind,"  Victoria  answered. 

"Not  as  a  lover,  oh  Roumia?"  Zorah,  like  all  girls  of 
Ouargla,  was  proud  of  her  knowledge  of  Arabic. 

"No.     Not  as  a  lover." 

"Is  there  then  one  of  thine  own  people  whom  thou  lovest  as 
a  lover,  Rose  of  the  West  ?"  , 

"I  have  no  lover,  little  white  moon." 

"Si  Maieddine  will  be  thy  lover,  whether  thou  desirest  him 
or  not." 

"Thou  mistakest,  oh  Zorah." 

"I  do  not  mistake.  If  thou  dost  not  yet  know  I  am  right, 
thou  wilt  know  before  many  days.  When  thou  findest  out  all 
that  is  in  his  heart  for  thee,  remember  our  talk  to-day,  in  the 
court  of  oranges." 

"I  will  tell  thee  thou  wert  wrong  in  this  same  court  of  oranges 
when  I  pass  this  way  again  without  Si  Maieddine." 

The  Ghu&ra  girl  shook  her  head,  until  her  curls  seemed  to 
ring  like  bells  of  jet.  "Something  whispers  to  my  spirit  that 
thou  wilt  never  again  pass  this  way,  oh  Roumia;  that  never 
again  will  we  talk  together  in  this  court  of  oranges." 


XXXI 

IF  IT  had  not  been  for  Zorah  and  her  twin  sister  Khadi jah, 
Maieddine   would   have   said    to    himself    at    Ouargla, 
"Now    my    hour    has    come."     But    though    his   eyes 
saw  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  woman   in   the   Caid's 
house,  his  ears  heard  the  laughter  of  young  girls,  in  which 
Victoria's  voice  mingled;  and  besides,  he  knew,  as  Arabs  con- 
trive to  know  everything  which  concerns  others,  that  his  host 
had  daughters.     He  was  well  aware  of  the  freemasonry  ex- 
isting among  the  wearers  of  veils,  the  dwellers  behind  shut 
doors;  and  though  Victoria  was  only  a  Roumia,  the  Caid's 
daughters  would  joyfully  scheme  to  help  her  against  a  man, 
if  she  asked  their  help. 

So  he  put  the  hour-hand  of  his  patience  a  little  ahead;  and 
Victoria  and  he  were  outwardly  on  the  same  terms  as  before 
when  they  left  Ouargla,  and  passed  on  to  the  region  of  the  low 
dunes,  shaped  like  the  tents  of  nomads  buried  under  sand,  the 
region  of  beautiful  jewelled  stones  of  all  colours,  and  the  region 
of  the  chotts,  the  desert  lakes,  like  sad,  wide-open  eyes  in  a 
dead  face. 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  Zaouia  of  Temacin,  and  the  great 
oasis  city  of  Touggourt,  the  dunes  increased  in  size,  surging 
along  the  horizon  in  turbulent  golden  billows.  M'Barka  knew 
that  she  was  close  to  her  old  home,  the  ancient  stronghold 
of  her  royal  ancestors,  those  sultans  who  had  owned  no  master 
under  Allah;  for  though  it  was  many  years  since  she  had  come 
this  way,  she  remembered  every  land-mark  which  would  have 
meant  nothing  to  a  stranger.  She  was  excited,  and  longed 
to  point  out  historic  spots  to  Victoria,  of  whom  she  had  grown 

301 


302  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

fond;  but  Maieddine  had  forbidden  her  to  speak.  He  had 
something  to  say  to  the  girl  before  telling  her  that  they  were 
approaching  another  city  of  the  desert.  Therefore  M'Barka 
kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  not  chatting  even  with  Fafann; 
for  though  she  loved  Victoria,  she  loved  Maieddine  better.  She 
had  forgiven  him  for  bringing  her  the  long  way  round,  sacrific- 
ing her  to  his  wish  for  the  girl's  society,  because  the  journey 
was  four-fifths  finished,  and  instead  of  being  worse,  her  health 
was  better.  Besides,  whatever  Maieddine  wanted  was  for 
the  Roumia's  good,  or  would  be  eventually. 

When  they  were  only  a  short  march  from  Touggourt,  and 
could  have  reached  there  by  dark,  Maieddine  nevertheless 
ordered  an  early  halt.  The  tents  were  set  up  by  the  Negroes 
among  the  dunes,  where  not  even  the  tall  spire  of  Temacin's 
mosque  was  visible.  And  he  led  the  little  caravan  somewhat 
out  of  the  track,  where  no  camels  were  likely  to  pass  within 
sight,  to  a  place  where  there  were  no  groups  of  black  tents 
in  the  yellow  sand,  and  where  the  desert,  in  all  its  beauty, 
appeared  lonelier  than  it  was  in  reality. 

By  early  twilight  the  camp  was  made,  and  the  Soudanese 
were  preparing  dinner.  Never  once  in  all  the  Sahara  journey 
had  there  been  a  sunset  of  such  magical  loveliness,  it  seemed 
to  Maieddine,  and  he  took  it  as  a  good  omen. 

"If  thou  wilt  walk  a  little  way  with  me,  Ourieda,"  he  said, 
"I  will  show  thee  something  thou  hast  never  seen  yet.  When 
my  cousin  is  rested,  and  it  is  time  for  supper,  I  will  bring  thee 
back." 

Together  they  mounted  and  descended  the  dunes,  until  they 
could  no  longer  see  the  camp  or  the  friendly  smoke  of  the  fire, 
which  rose  straight  up,  a  scarf  of  black  gauze,  against  a  sky 
of  green  and  lilac  shot  with  crimson  and  gold.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  that  Victoria  had  strolled  away  from  the  tents  at  sun- 
set with  Maieddine,  and  she  could  not  refuse,  yet  this  evening 
she  would  gladly  have  stayed  with  Leila  M'Barka. 

The  sand  was  curiously  crisp  under  their  feet  as  they  walked, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  303 

and  the  crystallized  surface  crackled  as  if  they  were  stepping 
on  thin,  dry  toast.  By  and  by  they  stood  still  on  the  summit 
of  a  dune,  and  Mai'eddine  took  from  the  hood  of  his  burnous 
a  pair  of  field-glasses  of  the  most  modern  make. 

"Look  round  thee,"  he  said.  "I  have  had  these  with  me 
since  our  start,  but  I  saved  them  for  to-day,  to  give  thee  a 
surprise." 

Victoria  adjusted  the  glasses,  which  were  very  powerful, 
and  cried  out  at  what  she  saw.  The  turmoil  of  the  dunes  be- 
came a  battle  of  giants.  Sand  waves  as  high  as  the  sky  rushed 
suddenly  towards  her,  towering  far  above  her  head,  as  if  she 
were  a  fly  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  ocean.  The  monstrous  yel- 
low shapes  came  closing  in  from  all  sides,  threatening  to 
engulf  her.  She  felt  like  a  butterfly  in  a  cage  of  angry 
lions. 

"It  is  terrible!"  she  exclaimed,  letting  the  glasses  fall  from 
her  eyes.  The  cageful  of  lions  sat  down,  calmed,  but  now 
that  the  butterfly  had  seen  them  roused,  never  could  they  look 
the  same  again. 

The  effect  upon  the  girl  was  exactly  what  Mai'eddine  had 
wanted.  For  once  Victoria  acted  as  he  expected  her  to  do  in 
given  circumstances.  "She  is  only  a  woman  after  all,"  he 
thought. 

"If  thou  wert  alone  in  this  sea  of  gold,  abandoned,  to  find 
thine  own  way,  with  no  guide  but  the  stars,  then  indeed  thou 
mightst  say  'it  is  terrible,'"  he  answered.  "For  these  waves 
roll  between  thee  and  the  north,  whence  thou  hast  come,  and 
still  higher  between  thee  and  the  desired  end  of  thy  journey. 
So  high  are  they,  that  to  go  up  and  down  is  like  climbing  and 
descending  mountains,  one  after  another,  all  day,  day  after  day. 
And  beyond,  where  thou  must  soon  go  if  thou  art  to  find  thy 
sister,  there  are  no  tracks  such  as  those  we  have  followed  thus 
far.  In  these  shifting  sands,  not  only  men  and  camels,  but 
great  caravans,  and  even  whole  armies  have  been  lost  and 
swallowed  up  for  ever.  For  gravestones,  they  have  only  the 


304  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

dunes,  and  no  man  will  know  where  they  lie  till  the  world  is 
rolled  up  as  a  scroll  in  the  hand  of  Allah." 

Victoria  grew  pale. 

"Always  before  thou  hast  tried  to  make  me  love  the  desert," 
she  said,  slowly.  "If  there  were  anything  ugly  to  see,  thou 
hast  bidden  me  turn  my  head  the  other  way,  or  if  I  saw  some- 
thing dreadful  thou  wouldst  at  once  begin  to  chant  a  song  of 
happiness,  to  make  me  forget.  Why  dost  thou  wish  to  frighten 
me  now?" 

"It  is  not  that  I  mean  to  give  thee  pain,  Ourieda."  Maied- 
dine's  voice  changed  to  a  tone  that  was  gentle  and  pleading. 
"It  is  only  that  I  would  have  thee  see  how  powerless  thou 
wouldst  be  alone  among  the  dunes,  where  for  days  thou  mightst 
wander,  meeting  no  man.  Or  if  thou  hadst  any  encounter, 
it  might  be  with  a  Touareg,  masked  in  blue,  with  a  long  knife 
at  his  belt,  and  in  his  breast  a  heart  colder  than  steel." 

"I  see  well  enough  that  I  would  be  powerless  alone,"  Vic- 
toria repeated.  "Dost  thou  need  to  tell  me  that?" 

"It  may  be  not,"  said  Maieddine.  "But  there  is  a  thing  I 
need  to  tell  thee.  My  need  is  very  sore.  Because  I  have 
kept  back  the  words  I  have  burned  to  speak,  my  soul  is  on 
fire,  oh  Rose!  I  love  thee.  I  die  for  thee.  I  must  have  thee 
for  mine!" 

He  snatched  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  crushed  them  against 
his  lips.  Then,  carried  away  by  the  flower-like  touch  of  her 
flesh,  he  let  her  hands  go,  and  caught  her  to  his  heart,  folding 
her  in  his  burnous  as  if  he  would  hide  her  even  from  the  eye  of 
the  sun  in  the  west.  But  she  threw  herself  back,  and  pushed 
him  away,  with  her  palms  pressed  against  his  breast.  She  could 
feel  under  her  hands  a  great  pounding  as  of  a  hammer  that 
would  beat  down  a  yielding  wall. 

"Thou  art  no  true  Arab!"  she  cried  at  him. 

The  words  struck  Maieddine  in  a  vulnerable  place,  perhaps 
the  only  one. 

He  had  expected  her  to  exclaim,  to  protest,  to  struggle,  and 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  305 

to  beg  that  he  would  let  her  go.  But  what  she  said  was  a  sharp, 
unlocked  for  stab.  Above  all  things  except  his  manhood, 
he  prided  himself  on  being  a  true  Arab.  Involuntarily  he 
loosened  his  clasp  of  her  waist,  and  she  seized  the  chance  to 
wrench  herself  free,  panting  a  little,  her  eyes  dilated.  But  as 
she  twisted  herself  out  of  his  arms,  he  caught  her  by  the  wrist. 
He  did  not  grasp  it  tightly  enough  to  hurt,  yet  the  grip  of  his 
slim  brown  hand  was  like  a  bracelet  of  iron.  She  knew  that 
she  could  not  escape  from  it  by  measuring  her  strength  against 
his,  or  even  by  surprising  him  with  some  quick  movement;  for 
she  had  surprised  him  once,  and  he  would  be  on  guard  not  to 
let  it  happen  again.  Now  she  did  not  even  try  to  struggle,  but 
stood  still,  looking  up  at  him  steadily.  Yet  her  heart  also  was 
like  a  hammer  that  beat  against  a  wall;  and  she  thought  of  the 
endless  dunes  in  whose  turmoil  she  was  swallowed  up.  If 
Stephen  Knight  were  here  —  but  he  was  far  away;  and  Maied- 
dine,  whom  she  had  trusted,  was  a  man  who  served  another 
God  than  hers.  His  thoughts  of  women  were  not  as  Stephen's 
thoughts. 

"Think  of  thy  white  angel,"  she  said.  "He  stands  between 
thee  and  me." 

"Nay,  he  gives  thee  to  me,"  Maieddine  answered.  "I  mean 
no  harm  to  thee,  but  only  good,  as  long  as  we  both  shall  live. 
My  white  angel  wills  that  thou  shalt  be  my  wife.  Thou  shalt 
not  say  I  am  no  true  Arab.  I  am  true  to  Allah  and  my  own 
manhood  when  I  tell  thee  I  can  wait  no  longer." 

"But  thou  art  not  true  to  me  when  thou  wouldst  force  me 
against  my  will  to  be  thy  wife.  We  have  drunk  from  the  same 
cup.  Thou  art  pledged  to  loyalty." 

"Is  it  disloyal  to  love?" 

"Thy  love  is  not  true  love,  or  thou  wouldst  think  of  me 
before  thyself." 

"I  think  of  thee  before  all  the  world.  Thou  art  my  world. 
I  had  meant  to  wait  till  thou  wert  in  thy  sister's  arms;  but 
since  the  night  when  I  saw  thee  dance,  my  love  grew  as  a  fire 


306  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

grows  that  feeds  upon  rezin.  If  I  offend  thee,  thou  alone  art 
to  blame.  Thou  wert  too  beautiful  that  night.  I  have  been 
mad  since  then.  And  now  thou  must  give  me  thy  word  that 
thou  wilt  marry  me  according  to  the  law  of  Islam.  After- 
wards, when  we  can  find  a  priest  of  thine  own  religion,  we  will 
stand  before  him." 

"Let  my  hand  go,  Si  Maieddine,  if  thou  wishest  me  to  talk 
further  with  thee,"  Victoria  said. 

He  smiled  at  her  and  obeyed;  for  he  knew  that  she  could 
not  escape  from  him,  therefore  he  would  humour  her  a  little. 
In  a  few  more  moments  he  meant  to  have  her  in  his  arms  again. 

His  smile  gave  the  girl  no  hope.  She  thought  of  Zorah  and 
the  court  of  the  oranges. 

"What  wilt  thou  do  if  I  say  I  will  not  be  thy  wife?"  she 
asked,  in  a  quiet  voice;  but  there  was  a  fluttering  in  her  throat. 

A  spark  lit  in  his  eyes.  The  moon  was  rising  now,  as  the 
sun  set,  and  the  two  lights,  silver  and  rose,  touched  his  face, 
giving  it  an  unreal  look,  as  if  he  were  a  statue  of  bronze  which 
had  "come  alive,"  Victoria  thought,  just  as  she  had  "come 
alive"  in  her  statue-dance.  He  had  never  been  so  handsome, 
but  his  dark  splendour  was  dreadful  to  her,  for  he  did  not  seem 
like  a  human  man  whose  heart  could  be  moved  to  mercy. 

For  an  instant  he  gave  her  no  answer,  but  his  eyes  did  not 
leave  hers.  "Since  thou  askest  me  that  question,  I  would 
make  thee  change  thy  'no'  into  'yes.'  But  do  not  force  me  to 
be  harsh  with  thee,  oh  core  of  my  heart,  oh  soul  of  my  soul! 
I  tell  thee  fate  has  spoken.  The  sand  has  spoken  —  sand 
gathered  from  among  these  dunes.  It  is  for  that  reason  in 
part  that  I  brought  thee  here." 

"  The  sand-divining ! "  Victoria  exclaimed.  "  Leila  M'Barka 
told  thee- 

"She  told  me  not  to  wait.  And  her  counsel  was  the  counsel 
of  my  own  heart.  Look,  oh  Rose,  where  the  moon  glitters  on 
the  sand  —  the  sand  that  twined  thy  life  with  mine.  See  how 
the  crystals  shape  themselves  like  little  hands  of  Fatma;  and 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  307 

they  point  from  thee  to  me,  from  me  to  thee.  The  desert  has 
brought  us  together.  The  desert  gives  us  to  one  another.  The 
desert  will  never  let  us  part." 

Victoria's  eyes  followed  his  pointing  gesture.  The  sand- 
crystals  sparkled  in  the  sunset  and  moonrise,  like  myriads  of 
earthbound  fireflies.  Their  bright  facets  seemed  to  twinkle 
at  her  with  cold,  fairy  eyes,  waiting  to  see  what  she  would  do, 
and  she  did  not  know.  She  did  not  know  at  all  what  she 
would  do. 


XXXII 

DOST  thou  wish  me  to  hate  thee,  Si  Maieddine?" 
she  asked. 
"I  do  not  fear  thy  hate.      When  thou  belongest  to 
me,  I  will  know  how  to  turn  it  into  love." 

"Perhaps  if  I  were  a  girl  of  thine  own  people  thou  wouldst 
know,  but  I  see  now  that  thy  soul  and  my  soul  are  far  apart. 
If  thou  art  so  wicked,  so  treacherous,  they  will  never  be 
nearer  together." 

"The  Koran  does  not  teach  us  to  believe  that  the  souls  of 
women  are  as  ours." 

"I  have  read.  And  if  there  were  no  other  reason  than  that, 
it  would  be  enough  to  put  a  high  wall  between  me  and  a  man 
of  thy  race." 

For  the  first  time  Maieddine  felt  anger  against  the  girl.  But 
it  did  not  make  him  love  or  want  her  the  less. 

"Thy  sister  did  not  feel  that,"  he  said,  almost  menacingly. 

"Then  the  more  do  I  feel  it.  Is  it  wise  to  use  her  as  an 
argument?" 

"I  need  no  argument,"  he  answered,  sullenly.  "I  have  told 
thee  what  is  in  my  mind.  Give  me  thy  love,  and  thou  canst 
bend  me  as  thou  wilt.  Refuse  it,  and  I  will  break  thee.  No! 
do  not  try  to  run  from  me.  In  an  instant  I  should  have  thee 
in  my  arms.  Even  if  thou  couldst  reach  M'Barka,  of  what  use 
to  grasp  her  dress  and  cry  to  her  for  help  against  me  ?  She 
would  not  give  it.  My  will  is  law  to  her,  as  it  must  be  to  thee 
if  thou  wilt  not  learn  wisdom,  and  how  to  hold  me  by  a 
thread  of  silk,  a  thread  of  thy  silky  hair.  No  one  would 
listen  to  thee.  Not  Fafann,  not  the  men  of  the  Soudan.  It 

308 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  309 

is  as  if  we  two  were  alone  in  the  desert.  Dost  thou 
understand  ?" 

"Thou  hast  made  me  understand.  I  will  not  try  to  run. 
Thou  hast  the  power  to  take  me,  since  thou  hast  forgotten  thy 
bond  of  honour,  and  thou  art  stronger  than  I.  Yet  will  I  not 
live  to  be  thy  wife,  Si  Mai'eddine.  Wouldst  thou  hold  a  dead 
girl  in  thine  arms  ?" 

"I  would  hold  thee  dead  or  living.  Thou  wouldst  be  living 
at  first;  and  a  moment  with  thine  heart  beating  against  mine 
would  be  worth  a  lifetime  —  perhaps  worth  eternity. " 

"Wouldst  thou  take  me  if  —  if  I  love  another  man  ?" 

He  caught  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  his  hands  were  hard  as 
steel.  "Darest  thou  to  tell  me  that  thou  lovest  a  man  ?" 

"Yes,  I  dare,"  she  said.  "Kill  me  if  thou  wilt.  Since  I 
have  no  earthly  help  against  thee,  kill  my  body,  and  let  God 
take  my  spirit  where  thou  canst  never  come.  I  love  another 
man." 

"Tell  me  his  name,  that  I  may  find  him." 

"I  will  not.     Nothing  thou  canst  do  will  make  me  tell  thee." 

"It  is  that  man  who  was  with  thee  on  the  boat." 

"I  said  I  would  not  tell  thee." 

He  shook  her  between  his  hands,  so  that  the  looped -up  braids 
of  her  hair  fell  down,  as  they  had  fallen  when  she  danced,  and 
the  ends  loosened  into  curls.  She  looked  like  a  pale  child, 
and  suddenly  a  great  tenderness  for  her  melted  his  heart.  He 
had  never  known  that  feeling  before,  and  it  was  very  strange 
to  him;  for  when  he  had  loved,  it  had  been  with  passion,  not 
with  tenderness. 

"Little  white  star,"  he  said,  "thou  art  but  a  babe,  and  I 
will  not  believe  that  any  man  has  ever  touched  thy  mouth  with 
his  lips.  Am  I  right  ?" 

"Yes,  because  he  does  not  love  me.  It  is  I  who  love  him, 
that  is  all,"  she  answered  naively.  "I  only  knew  how  I  really 
felt  when  thou  saidst  thou  wouldst  make  me  love  thee,  for  I 
was  so  sure  that  never,  never  couldst  thou  do  that.  And  I 


310  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

shall  love  the  other  man  all  my  life,  even  though  I  do  not  see  him 
again." 

"Thou  shalt  never  see  him  again.  For  a  moment,  oh  Rose, 
I  hated  thee,  and  I  saw  thy  face  through  a  mist  red  as  thy  blood 
and  his,  which  I  wished  to  shed.  But  thou  art  so  young  — 
so  white  —  so  beautiful.  Thou  hast  come  so  far  with  me, 
and  thou  hast  been  so  sweet.  There  is  a  strange  pity  for  thee 
in  my  breast,  such  as  I  have  never  known  for  any  living  thing. 
I  think  it  must  be  that  thou  hast  magic  in  thine  eyes.  It  is  as  if 
thy  soul  looked  out  at  me  through  two  blue  windows,  and  I 
could  fall  down  and  worship,  Allah  forgive  me!  I  knew  no 
man  had  kissed  thee.  And  the  man  thou  sayest  thou  lovest 
is  but  a  man  in  a  dream.  This  is  my  hour.  I  must  not  let  my 
chance  slip  by,  M'Barka  told  me.  Yet  promise  me  but  one 
thing  and  I  will  hold  thee  sacred  —  I  swear  on  the  head  of 
my  father." 

"What  is  the  one  thing  ?" 

"That  if  thy  sister  Leila  Saida  puts  thine  hand  in  mine, 
thou  wilt  be  my  wife." 

The  girl's  face  brightened,  and  the  great  golden  dunes,  sil- 
vering now  in  moonlight,  looked  no  longer  like  terrible  waves 
ready  to  overwhelm  her.  She  was  sure  of  Saidee,  as  she  was 
sure  of  herself. 

"That  I  will  promise  thee,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "Thou  hast  great  con- 
fidence in  thy  sister." 

"Perfect  confidence." 

"And  I "  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence.     "I  am  glad 

I  did  not  wait  longer,"  he  went  on  instead.  "Thou  knowest 
now  that  I  love  thee,  that  thou  hast  by  thy  side  a  man  and  not 
a  statue.  And  I  have  not  let  my  chance  slip  by,  because  I 
have  gained  thy  promise." 

"If  Saidee  puts  my  hand  in  thine." 

"It  is  the  same  thing." 

"Thou  dost  not  know  my  sister." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  311 

"But  I  know "  Again  he  broke  off  abruptly.  There 

were  things  it  were  better  not  to  say,  even  in  the  presence  of 
one  who  would  never  be  able  to  tell  of  an  indiscretion.  "It 
is  a  truce  between  us  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Forget,  then,  that  I  frightened  thee." 

"Thou  didst  not  frighten  me.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do, 
and  I  thought  I  might  have  to  die  without  seeing  Saidee.  Yet 
I  was  not  afraid,  I  think  —  I  hope  —  I  was  not  afraid." 

"Thou  wilt  not  have  to  die  without  seeing  thy  sister.  Now, 
more  than  before,  I  shall  be  in  haste  to  put  thee  in  her  charge. 
But  thou  wilt  die  without  seeing  again  the  face  of  that  man  whose 
name,  which  thou  wouldst  not  speak,  shall  be  as  smoke  blown 
before  the  wind.  Never  shalt  thou  see  him  on  earth,  and  if  he 
and  I  meet  I  will  kill  him." 

Victoria  shut  her  eyes,  and  pressed  her  hands  over  them. 
She  felt  very  desolate,  alone  with  Mai'eddine  among  the  dunes. 
She  would  not  dare  to  call  Stephen  now,  lest  he  should  hear  and 
come.  Nevertheless  she  could  not  be  wholly  unhappy,  for  it 
was  wonderful  to  have  learned  what  love  was.  She  loved 
Stephen  Knight. 

"Thou  wilt  let  me  go  back  to  M'Barka?"  she  said  to 
Mai'eddine. 

"I  will  take  thee  back,"  he  amende/d.  "Because  I  have  thy 
promise." 


xxxni 

ON  a  flat  white  roof,  which  bubbled  up  here  and  there 
in  rounded  domes,  a  woman  stood  looking  out  over 
interminable  waves  of  yellow  sand,  a  vast  golden 
silence  which  had  no  end  on  her  side  of  the  horizon, 
east,  west,  north,  or  south. 

No  veil  hid  her  face,  but  folds  of  thin  woollen  stuff  beauti- 
fully woven,  and  dyed  blue,  almost  as  dark  as  indigo,  fell  from 
her  head  nearly  to  her  feet,  over  a  loose  robe  of  orange-red, 
cut  low  in  the  neck,  with  sleeves  hiding  the  elbows.  She  looked 
towards  the  west,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand :  and  the  sun 
near  its  setting  streamed  over  her  face  and  hair,  chiselling  her 
features  in  marble,  brightening  her  auburn  hair  to  fiery  gold, 
giving  her  brown  eyes  the  yellow  tints  of  a  topaz,  or  of  the  amber 
beads  which  hung  in  a  long  chain,  as  far  down  as  her  knees. 

From  the  white  roof  many  things  could  be  seen  besides  the 
immense  monotonous  dunes  along  whose  ridges  orange  fire 
seemed  to  play  unceasingly  against  the  sky. 

There  was  the  roof  of  the  ZaouTa  mosque,  with  its  low,  white 
domes  grouped  round  the  minaret,  as  somewhere  below  the 
youngest  boys  of  the  school  grouped  round  the  taleb,  or  teacher. 
On  the  roof  of  the  mosque  bassourah  frames  were  in  the 
making,  splendid  bassourahs,  which,  when  finished,  would  be 
the  property  of  the  great  marabout,  greatest  of  all  living  mara- 
bouts, lord  of  the  Zaoula,  lord  of  the  desert  and  its  people,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  farther. 

There  were  other  roofs,  too,  bubbling  among  the  labyrinth 
of  square  open  courts  and  long,  tunnel-like,  covered  and  un- 
covered corridors  which  formed  the  immense,  rambling 

312 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  313 

Zaouia,  or  sacred  school  of  Oued  Tolga.  Things  happened 
on  these  roofs  which  would  have  interested  a  stranger,  for  there 
was  spinning  of  sheep's  wool,  making  of  men's  burnouses,  fash- 
ioning of  robes  for  women,  and  embroidering  of  saddles;  but 
the  woman  who  looked  towards  the  west  with  the  sun  in  her 
eyes  was  tired  of  the  life  on  sun-baked  roofs  and  in  shadowed 
courts. 

The  scent  of  orange  blossoms  in  her  own  little  high-walled 
garden  came  up  to  her;  yet  she  had  forgotten  that  it  was  sweet, 
for  she  had  never  loved  it.  The  hum  of  the  students'  voices, 
faintly  heard  through  the  open-work  of  wrought-iron  win- 
dows, rasped  her  nerves,  for  she  had  heard  it  too  often;  and  she 
knew  that  the  mysterious  lessons,  the  lessons  which  puzzled 
her,  and  constantly  aroused  her  curiosity,  were  never  repeated 
aloud  by  the  classes,  as  were  these  everlasting  chapters  of  the 
Koran. 

Men  sleeping  on  benches  in  the  court  of  the  mosque,  under 
arches  in  the  wall,  waked  and  drank  water  out  of  bulging 
goatskins,  hanging  from  huge  hooks.  Pilgrims  washed  their 
feet  in  the  black  marble  basin  of  the  trickling  fountain,  for  soon 
it  would  be  time  for  moghreb,  the  prayer  of  the  evening. 

Far  away,  eighteen  miles  distant  across  the  sands,  she  could 
see  the  twenty  thousand  domes  of  Oued  Tolga,  the  desert  city 
which  had  taken  its  name  from  the  older  Zaouia,  and  the  oued 
or  river  which  ran  between  the  sacred  edifice  on  its  golden 
hill,  and  the  ugly  toub-built  village,  raised  above  danger  of 
floods  on  a  foundation  of  palm  trunks. 

Far  away  the  domes  of  the  desert  city  shimmered  like  white 
fire  in  the  strange  light  that  hovers  over  the  Sahara  before  the 
hour  of  sunset.  Behind  those  distant,  dazzling  bubbles  of  un- 
earthly whiteness,  the  valley-like  oases  of  the  southern  desert, 
El  Souf,  dimpled  the  yellow  dunes  here  and  there  with  basins 
of  dark  green.  Near  by,  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  Zaouia  hill, 
such  an  oasis  lay,  and  the  woman  on  the  white  roof  could  look 
across  a  short  stretch  of  sand,  down  into  its  green  depths. 


314  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  could  watch  the  marabout's  men  repairing  the  sloping 
sand-walls  with  palm  trunks,  which  kept  them  from  caving 
in,  and  saved  the  precious  date-palms  from  being  engulfed  in  a 
yellow  tide.  It  was  the  marabout's  own  private  oasis,  and 
brought  him  in  a  large  income  every  year.  But  everything  was 
the  marabout's.  The  woman  on  the  roof  was  sick  to  death  of 
his  riches,  his  honours,  his  importance,  for  she  was  the  mara- 
bout's wife;  and  in  these  days  she  loved  him  as  little  as  she 
loved  the  orange  garden  he  had  given  her,  and  all  the  things 
that  were  hers  because  she  was  his. 

It  was  very  still  in  the  Zaouia  of  Oued  Tolga.  The  only 
sound  was  the  droning  of  the  boys'  voices,  which  came  faintly 
from  behind  iron  window-gratings  below,  and  that  monotonous 
murmur  emphasized  the  silence,  as  the  humming  of  bees  in  a 
hive  makes  the  stillness  of  a  garden  in  summer  more  heavy 
and  hot. 

No  noises  came  from  the  courts  of  the  women's  quarters,  or 
those  of  the  marabout's  guests,  and  attendants,  and  servants; 
not  a  voice  was  raised  in  that  more  distant  part  of  the  Zaouia 
where  the  students  lived,  and  where  the  poor  were  lodged  and 
fed  for  charity's  sake.  No  doubt  the  village,  across  the  narrow 
river  in  its  wide  bed,  was  buzzing  with  life  at  this  time  of  day; 
but  seldom  any  sound  there  was  loud  enough  to  break  the  slum- 
berous silence  of  the  great  Zaouia.  And  the  singing  of  the 
men  ia  the  near  oasis  who  fought  the  sand,  the  groaning  of  the 
well-cords  woven  of  palm  fibre  which  raised  the  buckets  of 
hollowed  palm-trunks,  was  as  monotonous  as  the  recitation  of 
the  Koran.  The  woman  had  heard  it  so  often  that  she  had 
long  ago  ceased  to  hear  it  at  all. 

She  looked  westward,  across  the  river  to  the  ugly  village  with 
the  dried  palm-leaves  on  its  roofs,  and  far  away  to  the  white- 
domed  city,  the  dimpling  oases  and  the  mountainous  dunes 
that  towered  against  a  flaming  sky;  then  eastward,  towards 
the  two  vast  desert  lakes,  or  chotts,  one  of  blue  water,  the  other 
of  saltpetre,  which  looked  bluer  than  water,  and  had  pale  edges 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  315 

that  met  the  sand  like  snow  on  gold.  Above  the  lake  of  water 
suddenly  appeared  a  soaring  line  of  white,  spreading  and 
mounting  higher,  then  turning  from  white  to  vivid  rose.  It  was 
the  flamingoes  rising  and  flying  over  the  chott,  the  one  daily 
phenomenon  of  the  desert  which  the  woman  on  the  roof  still 
loved  to  watch.  But  her  love  for  the  rosy  line  against  the  blue 
was  not  entirely  because  of  its  beauty,  though  it  was  start- 
lingly  beautiful.  It  meant  something  for  which  she  waited 
each  evening  with  a  passionate  beating  of  her  heart  under  the 
orange-coloured  robe  and  the  chain  of  amber  beads.  It  meant 
sunset  and  the  coming  of  a  message.  But  the  doves  on  the 
green  tiled  minaret  of  the  Zaouia  mosque  had  not  begun  yet 
to  dip  and  wheel.  They  would  not  stir  from  their  repose  until 
the  muezzin  climbed  the  steps  to  call  the  hour  of  evening 
prayer,  and  until  they  flew  against  the  sunset  the  message  could 
not  come. 

She  must  wait  yet  awhile.  There  was  nothing  to  do  till  the 
time  of  hope  for  the  message.  There  was  never  anything 
else  that  she  cared  to  do  through  the  long  days  from  sunrise 
to  sunset,  unless  the  message  gave  her  an  incentive  when  it  came. 

In  the  river-bed,  the  women  and  young  girls  had  not  fin- 
ished their  washing,  which  was  to  them  not  so  much  labour 
as  pleasure,  since  it  gave  them  their  opportunity  for  an  outing 
and  a  gossip.  In  the  bed  of  shining  sand  lay  coloured  stones 
like  jewels,  and  the  women  knelt  on  them,  beating  wet  bundles 
of  scarlet  and  puce  with  palm  branches.  The  watcher  on  the 
roof  knew  that  they  were  laughing  and  chattering  together 
though  she  could  not  hear  them.  She  wondered  dimly  how 
many  years  it  was  since  she  had  laughed,  and  said  to  herself 
that  probably  she  would  never  laugh  again,  although  she  was 
still  young,  only  twenty-eight.  But  that  was  almost  old  for 
a  woman  of  the  East.  Those  girls  over  there,  wading  knee- 
deep  in  the  bright  water  to  fill  their  goatskins  and  curious 
white  clay  jugs,  would  think  her  old.  But  they  hardly  knew 
of  her  existence.  She  had  married  the  great  marabout,  there- 


316  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

fore  she  was  a  marabouta,  or  woman  saint,  merely  because 
she  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  his  wife,  and  too  highly  placed 
for  them  to  think  of  as  an  earthly  woman  like  themselves. 
What  could  it  matter  whether  such  a  radiantly  happy  being 
were  young  or  old  ?  And  she  smiled  a  little  as  she  imagined 
those  poor  creatures  picturing  her  happiness.  She  passed 
near  them  sometimes  going  to  the  Moorish  baths,  but 
the  long  blue  drapery  covered  her  face  then,  and  she  was 
guarded  by  veiled  negresses  and  eunuchs.  They  looked  her 
way  reverently,  but  had  never  seen  her  face,  perhaps  did  not 
know  who  she  was,  though  no  doubt  they  had  all  heard  and 
gossipped  about  the  romantic  history  of  the  new  wife,  the  beau- 
tiful Ouled  Nail,  to  whom  the  marabout  had  condescended 
because  of  her  far-famed,  her  marvellous,  almost  incredible 
loveliness,  which  made  her  a  consort  worthy  of  a  saint. 

The  river  was  a  mirror  this  evening,  reflecting  the  sunset 
of  crimson  and  gold,  and  the  young  crescent  moon  fought  for 
and  devoured,  then  vomited  forth  again  by  strange  black  cloud- 
monsters.  The  old  brown  palm-trunks,  on  which  the  village 
was  built,  were  repeated  in  the  still  water,  and  seemed  to  go 
down  and  down,  as  if  their  roots  might  reach  to  the  other  side 
of  the  world. 

Over  the  crumbling  doorways  of  the  miserable  houses 
bleached  skulls  and  bones  of  animals  were  nailed  for  luck. 
The  red  light  of  the  setting  sun  stained  them  as  if  with  blood, 
and  they  were  more  than  ever  disgusting  to  the  watcher  on  the 
white  roof.  They  were  the  symbols  of  superstitions  the  most 
Eastern  and  barbaric,  ideas  which  she  hated,  as  she  was  begin- 
ning to  hate  all  Eastern  things  and  people. 

The  streak  of  rose  which  meant  a  flock  of  flying  flamingoes 
had  faded  out  of  the  sky.  The  birds  seemed  to  have  vanished 
into  the  sunset,  and  hardly  had  they  gone  when  the  loud 
crystalline  voice  of  the  muezzin  began  calling  the  faithful  to 
prayer.  Work  stopped  for  the  day.  The  men  and  youths  of  the 
Zaoui'a  climbed  the  worn  stairs  to  the  roof  of  the  mosque, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  317 

where,  in  their  white  turbans  and  burnouses,  they  prostrated 
themselves  before  Allah,  going  down  on  their  faces  as  one  man. 
The  doves  of  the  minaret  —  called  Imams,  because  they  never 
leave  the  mosque  or  cease  to  prostrate  themselves,  flying  head 
downwards  —  began  to  wheel  and  cry  plaintively.  The 
moment  when  the  message  might  come  was  here  at  last. 

The  white  roof  had  a  wall,  which  was  low  in  places,  in  others 
very  high,  so  high  that  no  one  standing  behind  it  could  be  seen. 
This  screen  of  whitewashed  toub  was  arranged  to  hide  persons 
on  the  roof  from  those  on  the  roof  of  the  mosque;  but  window- 
like  openings  had  been  made  in  it,  filled  in  with  mashrabeyah 
work  of  lace-like  pattern;  an  art  brought  to  Africa  long  ago 
by  the  Moors,  after  perfecting  it  in  Granada.  And  this  roof 
was  not  the  only  one  thus  screened  and  latticed.  There  was 
another,  where  watchers  could  also  look  down  into  the  court 
of  the  fountain,  at  the  carved  doors  taken  from  the  Romans, 
and  up  to  the  roof  of  the  mosque  with  all  its  little  domes. 
From  behind  those  other  lace-like  windows  in  the  roof-wall, 
sparkled  such  eyes  as  only  Ouled  Nail  girls  can  have;  but  the 
first  watcher  hated  to  think  of  those  eyes  and  their  wonderful 
fringe  of  black  lashes.  It  was  an  insult  to  her  that  they  should 
beautify  this  house,  and  she  ignored  their  existence,  though  she 
had  heard  her  negresses  whispering  about  them. 

While  the  faithful  prayed,  a  few  of  the  wheeling  doves  flew 
across  from  the  mosque  to  the  roof  where  the  woman  waited 
for  a  message.  At  her  feet  lay  a  small  covered  basket,  from 
which  she  took  a  handful  of  grain.  The  dove  Imams  forgot 
their  saintly  manners  in  an  unseemly  scramble  as  the  white 
hand  scattered  the  seeds,  and  while  they  disputed  with  one 
another,  complaining  mournfully,  another  bird,  flying  straight 
to  the  roof  from  a  distance,  suddenly  joined  them.  It  was 
white,  with  feet  like  tiny  branches  of  coral,  whereas  the  doves 
from  the  mosque  were  grey,  or  burnished  purple. 

The  woman  had  been  pale,  but  when  the  bird  fluttered  down 
to  rest  on  the  open  basket  of  grain,  colour  rushed  to  her  face, 


318  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

as  if  she  had  been  struck  on  each  cheek  with  a  rose.  None  of 
the  doves  of  the  mosque  were  tame  enough  to  sit  on  the  basket, 
which  was  close  to  her  feet,  though  they  sidled  round  it  wist- 
fully ;  but  the  white  bird  let  her  stroke  its  back  with  her  fingers 
as  it  daintily  pecked  the  yellow  grains. 

Very  cautiously  she  untied  a  silk  thread  fastened  to  a  feather 
under  the  bird's  wing.  As  she  did  so  it  fluttered  both  wings  as 
if  stretching  them  in  relief,  and  a  tiny  folded  paper  attached  to 
the  cord  fell  into  the  basket.  Instantly  the  woman  laid  her 
hand  over  it.  Then  she  locked  quickly,  without  moving  her 
head,  towards  the  square  opening  at  a  corner  of  the  roof  where 
the  stairway  came  up.  No  one  was  there.  Nobody  could  see 
her  from  the  roof  of  the  mosque,  and  her  roof  was  higher  than 
any  of  the  others,  except  that  which  covered  the  private  rooms 
of  the  marabout.  But  the  marabout  was  away,  and  no  one 
ever  came  out  on  his  roof  when  he  was  absent. 

She  opened  the  folded  bit  of  white  paper,  which  was  little 
more  than  two  inches  square,  and  was  covered  on  one  side  with 
writing  almost  microscopically  small.  The  other  side  was  blank, 
but  the  woman  had  no  doubt  that  the  letter  was  for  her.  As 
she  read,  the  carrier-pigeon  went  on  pecking  at  the  seeds  in 
the  basket,  and  the  doves  of  the  mosque  watched  it  enviously. 

The  writing  was  in  French,  and  no  name  was  at  the  beginning 
or  the  end. 

"Be  brave,  my  beautiful  one,  and  dare  to  do  as  your  heart 
prompts.  Remember,  I  worship  you.  Ever  since  that  won- 
derful day  when  the  wind  blew  aside  your  veil  for  an  instant 
at  the  door  of  the  Moorish  bath,  the  whole  world  has  been 
changed  for  me.  I  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  if  need  be 
for  the  joy  of  rescuing  you  from  your  prison.  Yet  I  do  not 
wish  to  die.  I  wish  to  live,  to  take  you  far  away  and  make 
you  so  happy  that  you  will  forget  the  wretchedness  and  failure 
of  the  past.  A  new  life  will  begin  for  both  of  us,  if  you  will 
only  trust  me,  and  forget  the  scruples  of  which  you  write  — 
false  scruples,  believe  me.  As  he  had  a  wife  living  when  he 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  319 

married  you,  and  has  taken  another  since,  surely  you  cannot 
consider  that  you  are  bound  by  the  law  of  God  or  man  ?  Let 
me  save  you  from  the  dragon,  as  fairy  princesses  were  saved  in 
days  of  old.  If  I  might  speak  with  you,  tell  you  all  the  argu- 
ments that  constantly  suggest  themselves  to  my  mind,  you 
could  not  refuse.  I  have  thought  of  more  than  one  way,  but 
dare  not  put  my  ideas  on  paper,  lest  some  unlucky  chance 
befall  our  little  messenger.  Soon  I  shall  have  perfected  the 
cypher.  Then  there  will  not  be  the  same  danger.  Perhaps 
to-morrow  night  I  shall  be  able  to  send  it.  But  meanwhile, 
for  the  sake  of  my  love,  give  me  a  little  hope.  If  you  will  try  to 
arrange  a  meeting,  to  be  settled  definitely  when  the  cypher 
is  ready,  twist  three  of  those  glorious  threads  of  gold 
which  you  have  for  hair  round  the  cord  when  you  send  the 
messenger  back." 

All  the  rosy  colour  had  died  away  from  the  woman's  face 
by  the  time  she  had  finished  reading  the  letter.  She  folded  it 
again  into  a  tiny  square  even  smaller  than  before,  and  put  it 
into  one  of  the  three  or  four  little  engraved  silver  boxes,  made 
to  hold  texts  from  the  Koran,  which  hung  from  her  long  amber 
necklace.  Her  eyes  were  very  wide  open,  but  she  seemed 
to  see  nothing  except  some  thought  printed  on  her  brain  like 
a  picture. 

On  the  mosque  roof  a  hundred  men  of  the  desert  knelt  pray- 
ing in  the  sunset,  their  faces  turned  towards  Mecca.  Down  in 
the  fountain-court,  the  marabout's  lazy  tame  lion  rose  from 
sleep  and  stretched  himself,  yawning  as  the  clear  voice  of  the 
muezzin  chanted  from  the  minaret  the  prayer  of  evening, 
"Allah  Akbar,  Allah  il  Allah,  Mohammed  r'soul  Allah." 

The  woman  did  not  know  that  she  heard  the  prayer,  for  as 
her  eyes  saw  a  picture,  so  did  her  ears  listen  to  a  voice  which 
she  had  heard  only  once,  but  desired  beyond  all  things  to  hear 
again.  To  her  it  was  the  voice  of  a  saviour-knight;  the  face 
she  saw  was  glorious  with  the  strength  of  manhood,  and  the 
light  of  love.  Only  to  think  of  the  voice  and  face  made  her  feel 


320  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

that  she  was  coming  to  life  again,  after  lying  dead  and  forgotten 
in  a  tomb  for  many  years  of  silence. 

Yes,  she  was  alive  now,  for  he  had  waked  her  from  a  sleep 
like  death;  but  she  was  still  in  the  tomb,  and  it  seemed 
impossible  to  escape  from  it,  even  with  the  help  of  a  saviour- 
knight.  If  she  said  "yes"  to  what  he  asked,  as  she  was  trying 
to  make  herself  believe  she  had  a  moral  and  legal  right  to  do, 
they  would  be  found  out  and  killed,  that  was  all. 

She  was  not  brave.  The  lassitude  which  is  a  kind  of  spurious 
resignation  poisons  courage,  or  quenches  it  as  water  quenches 
fire.  Although  she  hated  her  life,  if  it  could  be  called  life,  had 
no  pleasure  in  it,  and  had  almost  forgotten  how  to  hope,  still 
she  was  afraid  of  being  violently  struck  down. 

Not  long  ago  a  woman  in  the  village  had  tried  to  leave  her 
husband  with  a  man  she  loved.  The  husband  found  out, 
and  having  shot  the  man  before  her  eyes,  stabbed  her  with 
many  wounds,  one  for  each  traitorous  kiss,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  desert;  not  one  knife-thrust  deep  enough  to  kill; 
but  by  and  by  she  had  died  from  the  shock  of  horror,  and  loss 
of  blood.  Nobody  blamed  the  husband.  He  had  done  the  thing 
which  was  right  and  just.  And  stories  like  this  came  often  to 
the  ears  of  the  woman  on  the  roof  through  her  negresses, 
or  from  the  attendants  at  the  Moorish  bath. 

The  man  she  loved  would  not  be  shot  like  the  wretched 
Bedouin,  who  was  of  no  importance  except  to  her  for  whom  his 
life  was  given;  but  something  would  happen.  He  would  be 
taken  ill  with  a  strange  disease,  of  which  he  would  die  after 
dreadful  suffering;  or  at  best  his  career  would  be  ruined; 
for  the  greatest  of  all  marabouts  was  a  man  of  immense 
influence.  Because  of  his  religious  vow  to  wear  a  mask  always 
like  a  Touareg,  none  of  the  ruling  race  had  ever  seen  the 
marabout's  features,  yet  his  power  was  known  far  and  wide  — 
in  Morocco;  all  along  the  caravan  route  to  Tombouctou;  in  the 
capital  of  the  Touaregs;  in  Algiers;  and  even  in  Paris  itself. 

She  reminded  herself  of  these  things,  and  at  one  moment 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  321 

her  heart  was  like  ice  in  her  breast;  but  at  the  next,  it  was  like 
a  ball  of  fire;  and  pulling  out  three  long  bright  hairs  from  her 
head,  she  twisted  them  round  the  cord  which  the  carrier-pigeon 
had  brought.  Before  tying  it  under  his  wing  again,  she  scat- 
tered more  yellow  seeds  for  the  dove  Imams,  because  she  did 
not  want  them  to  fly  away  until  she  was  ready  to  let  her  messen- 
ger go.  Thus  there  was  the  less  danger  that  the  carrier-pigeon 
would  be  noticed.  Only  Noura,  her  negress,  knew  of  him. 
Noura  had  smuggled  him  into  the  Zaouia,  and  she  herself  had 
trained  him  by  giving  him  food  that  he  liked,  though  his  home 
was  at  Oued  Tolga,  the  town. 

The  birds  from  the  mosque  had  waited  for  their  second  supply, 
for  the  same  programme  had  been  carried  out  many  times  before, 
and  they  had  learned  to  expect  it. 

When  they  finished  scrambling  for  the  grain  which  the  white 
pigeon  could  afford  to  scorn,  they  fluttered  back  to  the  minaret, 
following  a  leader.  But  the  carrier  flew  away  straight  and  far, 
his  little  body  vanishing  at  last  as  if  swallowed  up  in  the  gold 
of  the  sunset.  For  he  went  west,  towards  the  white  domes  of 
Oued  Tolga. 


XXXIV 

STILL  the  woman  stood  looking  after  the  bird,  but 
the  sun  had  dropped  behind  the  dunes,  and  she 
no  longer  needed  to  shade  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  expect  till  sunset 
to-morrow,  when  something  might  or  might  not  happen.  If 
no  message  came,  then  there  would  be  only  dullness  and  stag- 
nation until  the  day  when  the  Moorish  bath  was  sacredly  kept 
for  the  great  ladies  of  the  marabout's  household.  There  were 
but  two  of  these,  yet  they  never  went  to  the  bath  together,  nor 
had  they  ever  met  or  spoken  to  one  another.  They  were  es- 
corted to  the  bath  by  their  attendants  at  different  hours  of  the 
same  day;  and  later  their  female  servants  were  allowed  to  go, 
for  no  one  but  the  women  of  the  saintly  house  might  use  the 
baths  that  day. 

The  woman  on  the  white  roof  in  the  midst  of  the  golden 
silence  gazed  towards  the  west,  though  she  looked  for  no  event 
of  interest;  and  her  eyes  fixed  themselves  mechanically  upon  a 
little  caravan  which  moved  along  the  yellow  sand  like  a  pro- 
cession of  black  insects.  She  was  so  accustomed  to  search 
the  desert  since  the  days,  long  ago,  when  she  had  actually 
hoped  for  friends  to  come  and  take  her  away,  that  she  could 
differentiate  objects  at  greater  distances  than  one  less  trained 
to  observation.  Hardly  thinking  of  the  caravan,  she  made 
out,  nevertheless,  that  it  consisted  of  two  camels,  carrying 
bassourahs,  a  horse  and  Arab  rider,  a  brown  pack  camel,  and  a 
loaded  mule,  driven  by  two  men  who  walked. 

They  had  evidently  come  from  Oued  Tolga,  or  at  least  from 
that  direction,  therefore  it  was  probable  that  their  destination 

322 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  323 

was  the  Zaouia;  otherwise,  as  it  was  already  late,  they  would 
have  stopped  in  the  city  all  night.  Of  course,  it  was  possible 
that  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  village,  but  it  was  a  poor 
place,  inhabited  by  very  poor  people,  many  of  them  freed 
Negroes,  who  worked  in  the  oases  and  lived  mostly  upon  dates. 
No  caravans  ever  went  out  from  there,  because  no  man,  even 
the  richest,  owned  more  than  one  camel  or  donkey;  and  nobody 
came  to  stay,  unless  some  son  of  the  miserable  hamlet,  who  had 
made  a  little  money  elsewhere,  and  returned  to  see  his  relatives. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  numerous  caravans  arrived  at  the 
Zaoui'a  of  Oued  Tolga,  and  hundreds  of  pilgrims  from  all  parts 
of  Islam  were  entertained  as  the  marabout's  guests,  or  as  recipi- 
ents of  charity. 

Dimly,  as  she  detached  her  mind  from  the  message  she  had 
sent,  the  woman  began  to  wonder  about  this  caravan,  because 
of  the  bassourahs,  which  meant  that  there  were  women  among 
the  travellers.  There  were  comparatively  few  women  pilgrims 
to  the  Zaoui'a,  except  invalids  from  the  town  of  Oued  Tolga, 
or  some  Sahara  encampment,  who  crawled  on  foot,  or  rode 
decrepit  donkeys,  hoping  to  be  cured  of  ailments  by  the  magic 
power  of  the  marabout,  the  power  of  the  Baraka.  The  woman 
who  watched  had  learned  by  this  time  not  to  expect  European 
tourists.  She  had  lived  for  eight  years  in  the  Zaoui'a,  and  not 
once  had  she  seen  from  her  roof  a  European,  except  a  French 
government-official  or  two,  and  a  few  —  a  very  few  —  French 
officers.  Never  had  any  European  women  come.  Tourists 
were  usually  satisfied  with  Touggourt,  three  or  four  days  nearer 
civilisation.  Women  did  not  care  to  undertake  an  immense 
and  fatiguing  journey  among  the  most  formidable  dunes  of 
the  desert,  where  there  was  nothing  but  ascending  and  des- 
cending, day  after  day;  where  camels  sometimes  broke  their 
legs  in  the  deep  sand,  winding  along  the  fallen  side  of  a 
mountainous  dune,  and  where  a  horse  often  had  to  sit  on  his 
haunches,  and  slide  with  his  rider  down  a  sand  precipice. 

She  herself  had  experienced  all  these  difficulties,  so  long 


324  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ago  now  that  she  had  half  forgotten  how  she  had  hated  them, 
and  the  fate  to  which  they  were  leading  her.  But  she  did  not 
blame  other  women  for  not  coming  to  Oued  Tolga. 

Occasionally  some  cald  or  agha  of  the  far  south  would  bring 
his  wife  who  was  ill  or  childless  to  be  blessed  by  the  marabout; 
and  in  old  days  they  had  been  introduced  to  the  marabouta, 
but  it  was  years  now  since  she  had  been  asked,  or  even  allowed, 
to  entertain  strangers.  She  thought,  without  any  active  interest, 
as  she  looked  at  the  nodding  bassourahs,  growing  larger  and 
larger,  that  a  chief  was  coming  with  his  women,  and  that  he 
would  be  disappointed  to  learn  that  the  marabout  was  away 
from  home.  It  was  rather  odd  that  the  stranger  had  not  been 
told  in  the  city,  for  every  one  knew  that  the  great  man  had  gone 
a  fortnight  ago  to  the  province  of  Oran.  Several  days  must 
pass  before  he  could  return,  even  if,  for  any  reason,  he  came 
sooner  than  he  was  expected.  But  it  did  not  matter  much  to 
her,  if  there  were  to  be  visitors  who  would  have  the  pain  of 
waiting.  There  was  plenty  of  accommodation  for  guests, 
and  there  were  many  servants  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  care 
for  strangers.  She  would  not  see  the  women  in  the  bassourahs, 
nor  hear  of  them  unless  some  gossip  reached  her  through  the  talk 
of  the  negresses. 

Still,  as  there  was  nothing  else  which  she  wished  to  do,  she 
continued  to  watch  the  caravan. 

By  and  by  it  passed  out  of  sight,  behind  the  rising  ground 
on  which  the  village  huddled,  with  its  crowding  brown  house - 
walls  that  narrowed  towards  the  roofs.  The  woman  almost 
forgot  it,  until  it  appeared  again,  to  the  left  of  the  village,  where 
palm  logs  had  been  laid  in  the  river  bed,  making  a  kind  of  rough 
bridge,  only  covered  when  the  river  was  in  flood.  It  was  cer- 
tain now  that  the  travellers  were  coming  to  the  Zaoula. 

The  flame  of  the  sunset  had  died,  though  clouds  purple  as 
pansies  flowered  in  the  west.  The  gold  of  the  dunes  paled  to 
silver,  and  the  desert  grew  sad,  as  if  it  mourned  for  a  day  that 
would  never  live  again.  Far  away,  near  Oued  Tolga,  where 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  325 

the  white  domes  of  the  city  and  the  green  domes  of  the  oasis 
palms  all  blended  together  in  shadow,  fires  sprang  up  in  the 
camps  of  nomads,  like  signals  of  danger. 

The  woman  on  the  roof  shivered.  The  chill  of  the  coming 
night  cooled  her  excitement.  She  was  afraid  of  the  future,  and 
the  sadness  which  had  fallen  upon  the  desert  was  cold  in  her 
heart.  The  caravan  was  not  far  from  the  gate  of  the  Zaoui'a, 
but  she  was  tired  of  watching  it.  She  turned  and  went  down 
the  narrow  stairs  that  led  to  her  rooms,  and  to  the  little  garden 
where  the  fragrance  of  orange  blossoms  was  too  sweet. 


XXXV 

THE  caravan  stopped  in  front  of  the  Zaoula  gate. 
There  were  great  iron  doors  in  a  high  wall  of  toub, 
which  was  not  much  darker  in  colour  than  the  deep 
gold  of  the  desert  sand;  and  because  it  was  after 
sunset  the  doors  were  closed. 

One  of  the  Negroes  knocked,  and  called  out  something  in- 
articulate and  guttural  in  a  loud  voice. 

Almost  at  once  the  gate  opened,  and  a  shadowy  figure  hovered 
inside.  A  name  was  announced,  which  was  instantly  shouted 
to  a  person  unseen,  and  a  great  chattering  began  in  the  dusk. 
Men  ran  out,  and  one  or  two  kissed  the  hand  of  the  rider  on 
the  white  horse.  They  explained  volubly  that  the  lord  was 
away,  but  the  newcomer  checked  them  as  soon  as  he  could,  say- 
ing that  he  had  heard  the  news  in  the  city.  He  had  with  him 
ladies,  one  a  relative  of  his  own,  another  who  was  connected 
with  the  great  lord  himself,  and  they  must  be  entertained  as 
the  lord  would  wish,  were  he  not  absent. 

The  gates,  or  doors,  of  iron  were  thrown  wide  open,  and  the 
little  procession  entered  a  huge  open  court.  On  one  side  was 
accommodation  for  many  animals,  as  in  a  caravanserai,  with 
a  narrow  roof  sheltering  thirty  or  forty  stalls;  and  here  the 
two  white  meharis  were  made  to  kneel,  that  the  women  might 
descend  from  their  bassourahs.  There  were  three,  all  veiled, 
but  the  arms  of  one  were  bare  and  very  brown.  She  moved 
stiffly,  as  if  cramped  by  sitting  for  a  long  time  in  one  position ; 
nevertheless,  she  supported  her  companion,  whose  bassour  she 
had  shared.  The  two  Soudanese  Negroes  remained  in  this 
court  with  their  animals,  which  the  servants  of  the  Zaoula, 

326 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  327 

began  helping  them  to  unload;  but  the  master  of  the  expedition, 
with  the  two  ladies  of  his  party  and  Fafann,  was  now  obliged 
to  walk.  Several  men  of  the  Zaoui'a  acted  as  their  guides, 
gesticulating  with  great  respect,  but  lowering  their  eyelids,  and 
appearing  not  to  see  the  women. 

They  passed  through  another  court,  very  large,  though  not 
so  immense  as  the  first,  for  no  animals  were  kept  there.  In- 
stead of  stalls  for  camels  and  horses,  there  were  roughly  built 
rooms  for  pilgrims  of  the  poorer  class ,  with  little,  roofless,  open- 
sided  kitchens,  where  they  could  cook  their  own  food.  Beyond 
was  the  third  court,  with  lodging  for  more  important  persons, 
and  then  the  travellers  were  led  through  a  labyrinth  of  corri- 
dors, some  roofed  with  palm  branches,  others  open  to  the  air, 
and  still  more  covered  in  with  the  toub  blocks  of  which  the 
walls  were  built.  Along  the  sides  were  crumbling  benches  of 
stucco,  on  which  old  men  lay  rolled  up  in  their  burnouses;  or 
here  and  there  a  door  of  rotting  palm  wood  hung  half  open, 
giving  a  glimpse  into  a  small,  dim  court,  duskily  red  with  the 
fire  of  cooking  in  an  open-air  kitchen.  From  behind  these 
doors  came  faint  sounds  of  chanting,  and  spicy  smells  of  burn- 
ing wood  and  boiling  peppers.  It  was  like  passing  through 
a  subterranean  village;  and  little  dark  children,  squatting  in 
doorways,  or  flattening  their  bodies  against  palm  trunks  which 
supported  palm  roofs,  or  flitting  ahead  of  the  strangers,  in  the 
thick,  musky  scented  twilight,  were  like  shadowy  gnomes. 

By  and  by,  as  the  newcomers  penetrated  farther  into  the 
mysterious  labyrinth  of  the  vast  Zaoui'a,  the  corridors  and 
courts  became  less  ruined  in  appearance.  The  walls  were 
whitewashed;  the  palm- wood  doors  were  roughly  carved  and 
painted  in  bright  colours,  which  could  be  seen  by  the  flicker 
of  lamps  set  high  in  little  niches.  Each  tunnel-like  passage 
had  a  carved  archway  at  the  end,  and  at  last  they  entered  one 
which  was  closed  in  with  beautiful  doors  of  wrought  iron. 

Through  the  rich  network  they  could  see  into  a  court  where 
everything  glimmered  white  in  moonlight.  They  had  come 


328  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

to  the  court  of  the  mosque,  which  had  on  one  side  an  entrance 
to  the  private  house  of  the  marabout,  the  great  Sidi  El  Hadj 
Mohammed  ben  Abd-el-Kader. 


"Leila  Salda,  oh  light  of  the  young  moon,  if  it  please  thee, 
thou  hast  two  guests  come  from  very  far  off,"  announced  an 
old  negress  to  the  woman  who  had  been  looking  out  over  the 
golden  silence  of  the  desert. 

It  was  an  hour  since  she  had  come  down  from  the  roof,  and 
having  eaten  a  little  bread,  with  soup,  she  lay  on  a  divan  writing 
in  a  small  book.  Several  tall  copper  lamps  with  open-work 
copper  shades,  jewelled  and  fringed  with  coloured  glass,  gave 
a  soft  and  beautiful  light  to  the  room.  It  had  pure  white  walls, 
round  which,  close  to  the  ceiling,  ran  a  frieze  of  Arab  lettering, 
red,  and  black,  and  gold.  The  doors  and  window-blinds  and 
little  cupboards  were  of  cedar,  so  thickly  inlaid  with  mother- 
o'-pearl,  that  only  dark  lines  of  the  wood  defined  the  white 
patterning  of  leaves  and  flowers. 

The  woman  had  thrown  off  the  blue  drapery  that  had  covered 
her  head,  and  her  auburn  hair  glittered  in  the  light  of  the  lamp 
by  which  she  wrote.  She  looked  up,  vexed. 

"Thou  knowest,  Noura,  that  for  years  I  have  received  no 
guests,"  she  said,_in  a  dialect  of  the  Soudan,  in  which  most 
Saharian  mistresses  of  Negro  servants  learn  to  talk.  .  "I  can  see 
no  one.  The  master  would  not  permit  me  to  do  so,  even  if  I 
wished  it,  which  I  do  not." 

"Pardon,  loveliest  lady.  But  this  is  another  matter.  A 
friend  of  our  lord  brings  these  visitors  to  thee.  One  is  kin 
of  his.  She  seeks  to  be  healed  of  a  malady,  by  the  power  of 
the  Baraka.  But  the  other  is  a  Roumia." 

The  wife  of  the  great  marabout  shut  the  book  in  which  she 
had  been  writing,  and  her  mind  travelled  quickly  to  the  sender 
of  the  carrier-pigeon.  A  European  woman,  the  first  who  had 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  329 

ever  come  to  the  Zaoui'a  in  eight  years!  It  must  be  that  she 
had  a  message  from  him.  Somehow  he  had  contrived  this 
visit.  She  dared  ask  no  more  questions. 

"I  will  see  these  ladies,"  she  said.  "Let  them  come  to  me 
here." 

"Already  the  old  one  is  resting  in  the  guest-house,"  answered 
the  negress.  "She  has  her  own  servant,  and  she  asks  to  see 
thee  no  earlier  than  to-morrow,  when  she  has  rested,  and  is 
able  to  pay  thee  her  respects.  It  is  the  other,  the  young  Roumia, 
who  begs  to  speak  with  thee  to-night." 

The  wife  of  the  marabout  was  more  certain  than  ever  that 
her  visitor  must  come  from  the  sender  of  the  pigeon.  She  was 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  talk  with  his  messenger  alone,  without 
waiting. 

"Go  fetch  her,"  she  directed.  "And  when  thou  hast 
brought  her  to  the  door  I  shall  no  longer  need  thee,  Noura." 

Her  heart  was  beating  fast.  She  dreaded  some  final  de- 
cision, or  the  need  to  make  a  decision,  yet  she  knew  that  she 
would  be  bitterly  disappointed  if,  after  all,  the  European  woman 
were  not  what  she  thought.  She  shut  up  the  diary  in  which 
she  wrote  each  night,  and  opening  one  of  the  wall  cupboards 
near  her  divan,  she  put  it  away  on  a  shelf,  where  there  were 
many  other  small  volumes,  a  dozen  perhaps.  They  contained  the 
history  of  her  life  during  the  last  nine  years,  since  unhappiness 
had  isolated  her,  and  made  it  necessary  to  her  peace  of  mind, 
almost  to  her  sanity,  to  have  a  confidant.  She  closed  the  in- 
laid doors  of  the  cupboard,  and  locked  them  with  a  key  which 
hung  from  a  ribbon  inside  her  dress. 

Such  a  precaution  was  hardly  needed,  since  the  writing  was 
all  in  English,  and  she  had  recorded  the  events  of  the  last  few 
weeks  cautiously  and  cryptically.  Not  a  soul  in  the  marabout's 
house  could  read  English,  except  the  marabout  himself;  and  it 
was  seldom  he  honoured  her  with  a  visit.  Nevertheless, 
it  had  become  a  habit  to  lock  up  the  books,  and  she  found  a 
secretive  pleasure  in  it. 


330  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  had  only  time  to  slip  the  ribbon  back  into  her  breast, 
and  sit  down  stiffly  on  the  divan,  when  the  door  was  opened 
again  by  Noura. 

"O  Leila  Saida,  I  have  brought  the  Roumia,"  the  negress 
announced. 

A  slim  figure  in  Arab  dress  came  into  the  room,  unfastening 
a  white  veil  with  fingers  that  trembled  with  impatience.  The 
door  shut  softly.  Noura  had  obeyed  instructions. 


XXXVI 

FOR  ten  years  Victoria  had  been  waiting  for  this 
moment,  dreaming  of  it  at  night,  picturing  it  by 
day.  Now  it  had  come. 

There  was  Saidee  standing  before  her,  found  at 
last.  Saidee,  well  and  safe,  and  lovely  as  ever,  hardly  changed 
in  feature,  and  yet  —  there  was  something  strange  about  her, 
something  which  stopped  the  joyous  beating  of  the  girl's  heart. 
It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  died  and  come  to  Heaven,  to  find 
that  Heaven  was  not  Heaven  at  all,  but  a  cold  place  of  fear. 

She  was  shocked  at  the  impression,  blaming  herself.  Surely 
Saidee  did  not  know  her  yet,  that  was  all;  or  the  surprise  was  too 
great.  She  wished  she  had  sent  word  by  the  negress.  Though 
that  would  have  seemed  banal,  it  would  have  been  better  than 
to  see  the  blank  look  on  Saidee's  face,  a  look  which  froze  her 
into  a  marble  statue,  But  it  was  too  late  now.  The  only 
thing  left  was  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  beginning. 

"Oh,  darling!"  Victoria  cried.  "Have  I  frightened  you? 
Dearest  —  my  beautiful  one,  it's  your  little  sister.  All  these 
years  I've  been  waiting  —  waiting  to  find  a  way.  You  knew 
I  would  come  some  day,  didn't  you  ?" 

Tears  poured  down  her  face.  She  tried  to  believe  they  were 
tears  of  joy,  such  as  she  had  often  thought  to  shed  at  sight  of 
Saidee.  She  had  been  sure  that  she  could  not  keep  them 
back,  and  that  she  would  not  try.  They  should  have  been 
sweet  as  summer  rain,  but  they  burned  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks 
as  they  fell.  Saidee  was  silent.  The  girl  held  out  her  arms, 
running  a  step  or  two,  then,  faltering,  she  let  her  arms  fall. 
They  felt  heavy  and  stiff,  as  if  they  had  been  turned  to  wood. 

331 


332  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Saidee  did  not  move.  There  was  an  expression  of  dismay,  even 
of  fear  on  her  face. 

"You  don't  know  me!"  Victoria  said  chokingly.  "I've 
grown  up,  and  I  must  seem  like  a  different  person  —  but  I'm 
just  the  same,  truly.  I've  loved  you  so,  always.  You'll  get 
used  to  seeing  me  changed.  You  —  you  don't  think  I'm  some- 
body else  pretending  to  be  Victoria,  do  you  ?  I  can  tell  you  all 
the  things  we  used  to  do  and  say.  I  haven't  forgotten  one. 
Oh,  Saidee,  dearest,  I've  come  such  a  long  way  to  find  you. 
Do  be  glad  to  see  me  —  do ! " 

Her  voice  broke.  She  put  out  her  hands  pleadingly  —  the 
childish  hands  that  had  seemed  pathetically  pretty  to  Stephen 
Knight. 

A  look  of  intense  concentration  darkened  Saidee's  eyes. 
She  appeared  to  question  herself,  to  ask  her  intelligence  what 
was  best  to  do.  Then  the  tense  lines  of  her  face  softened. 
She  forced  herself  to  smile,  and  leaning  towards  Victoria,  clasped 
the  slim  white  figure  in  her  arms,  holding  it  tightly,  in  silence. 
But  over  the  girl's  shoulder,  her  eyes  still  seemed  to  search  an 
answer  to  their  question. 

When  she  had  had  time  to  control  her  voice  and  expression, 
she  spoke,  releasing  her  sister,  taking  the  wistful  face  between 
her  hands,  and  gazing  at  it  earnestly.  Then  she  kissed  lips  and 
cheeks. 

"Victoria!"  she  murmured.  "Victoria!  I'm  not  dream- 
ing you?" 

"No,  no,  darling,"  the  girl  answered,  more  hopefully.  "No 
wonder  you're  dazed.  This  —  finding  you,  I  mean  —  has  been 
the  object  of  my  life,  ever  since  your  letters  stopped  coming, 
and  I  began  to  feel  I'd  lost  you.  That's  why  I  can't  realize 
your  being  struck  dumb  with  the  surprise  of  it.  Somehow, 
I've  always  felt  you'd  be  expecting  me.  Weren't  you  ?  Didn't 
you  know  I'd  come  when  I  could  ?" 

Saidee  shook  her  head,  looking  with  extraordinary,  almost 
feverish,  interest  at  the  younger  girl,  taking  in  every  detail  of 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  333 

feature  and  complexion,  all  the  exquisite  outlines  of  extreme 
youth,  which  she  had  lost. 

"No,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  thought  I  was  dead  to  the  world. 
I  didn't  think  it  would  be  possible  for  anyone  to  find  me,  even 
you." 

"But  —  you  are  glad — now  I'm  here?"  Victoria  fal- 
tered. 

"Of  course,"  Saidee  answered  unhesitatingly.  "I'm  de- 
lighted —  enchanted  —  for  my  own  sake.  If  I'm  frightened, 
if  you  think  me  strange  — farouche  —  it's  because  I'm  so  sur- 
prised, and  because — can  you  believe  it? — this  is  the  first 
time  I've  spoken  English  with  any  human  being  for  nine 
years  —  perhaps  more.  I  almost  forget  —  it  seems  a  century. 
I  talk  to  myself  —  so  as  not  to  forget.  And  every  night  I  write 
down  what  has  happened,  or  rather  what  I've  thought, 
because  things  hardly  ever  do  happen  here.  The  words  don't 
come  easily.  They  sound  so  odd  in  my  own  ears.  And  then  — 
there's  another  reason  why  I'm  afraid.  It's  on  your  account. 
I'd  better  tell  you.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  not  to  tell.  I  —  how 
are  you  going  to  get  away  again  ? " 

She  almost  whispered  the  last  words,  and  spoke  them  as  if 
she  were  ashamed.  But  she  watched  the  girl's  face  anxiously. 

Victoria  slipped  a  protecting  arm  round  her  waist.  "We 
are  going  away  together,  dearest,"  she  said.  "Unless  you're 
too  happy  and  contented.  But,  my  Saidee  —  you  don't  look 
contented." 

Saidee  flushed  faintly.  "You  mean — I  look  old — hag- 
gard?" 

"No  —  no!"  the  girl  protested.  "Not  that.  You've  hardly 
changed  at  all,  except  — oh,  I  hardly  know  how  to  put  it  in 
words.  It's  your  expression.  You  look  sad  —  tired  of  the 
things  around  you.  ' 

"I  am  tired  of  the  things  around  me,"  Saidee  said.  "Often 
I've  felt  like  a  dead  body  in  a  grave  with  no  hope  of  even  a 
resurrection.  What  were  those  lines  of  Christina  Rossetti's  I 


3S4  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

used  to  say  over  to  myself  at  first,  while  it  still  seemed  worth 
while  to  revolt?  Some  one  was  buried,  had  been  buried  for 
years,  yet  could  think  and  feel,  and  cry  out  against  the  doom  of 
lying  'under  this  marble  stone,  forgotten,  alone.'  Doesn't  it 
sound  agonizing  —  desperate  ?  It  just  suited  me.  But  now  — 
now " 

"Are  things  better?  Are  you  happier?"  Victoria  clasped 
her  sister  passionately. 

"No.  Only  I'm  past  caring  so  much.  If  you've  come  here, 
Babe,  to  take  me  away,  it's  no  use.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now. 
This  is  prison.  And  you  must  escape,  yourself,  before  the 
gaoler  comes  back,  or  it  will  be  a  life-sentence  for  you,  too." 

It  warmed  Victoria's  heart  that  her  sister  should  call  her 
"Babe"  —the  old  pet  name  which  brought  the  past  back  so 
vividly,  that  her  eyes  filled  again  with  tears. 

"You  shall  not  be  kept  in  prison!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's 
monstrous — horrible!  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  like  this. 
That's  why  I  had  to  wait  and  make  plenty  of  money.  Dearest, 
I'm  rich.  Everything's  for  you.  You  taught  me  to  dance,  and 
it's  by  dancing  I've  earned  such  a  lot  —  almost  a  fortune.  So 
you  see,  it's  yours.  I've  got  enough  to  bribe  Cassim  to  let  you 
go,  if  he  likes  money,  and  isn't  kind  to  you.  Because,  if  he  isn't 
kind,  it  must  be  a  sign  he  doesn't  love  you,  really." 

Saidee  laughed,  a  very  bitter  laugh.  "He  does  like  money. 
And  he  doesn't  like  me  at  all  —  any  more." 

"Then — "Victoria's  face  brightened — "then  he  will  take 
the  ten  thousand  dollars  I've  brought,  and  he'll  let  you  go  away 
with  me." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!"  Saidee  laughed  again.  "Do  you 
know  who  Cassim  —  as  you  call  him  —  is  ?" 

The  girl  looked  puzzled.     "Who  he  is ?" 

"I  see  you  don't  know.  The  secret's  been  kept  from  you, 
somehow,  by  his  friend  who  brought  you  here.  You'll  tell  me 
how  you  came;  but  first  I'll  answer  your  question.  The  Cassim 
ben  Ilaliin  you  knew,  has  been  dead  for  eight  years." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  335 

"They  told  me  so  in  Algiers.  But  — do  you  mean  — have 
you  married  again  ?" 

"I  said  the  Cassim  ben  Halim  you  knew,  is  dead.  The 
Cassim  /  knew,  and  know  now,  is  alive  —  and  one  of  the  most 
important  men  in  Africa,  though  we  live  like  this,  buried  among 
the  desert  dunes,  out  of  the  world  —  or  what  you'd  think  the 
world." 

"My  world  is  where  you  are,"  Victoria  said. 

"Dear  little  Babe!  Mine  is  a  terrible  world.  You  must 
get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  you  can,  or  you'll  never  get  out  at  all." 

"Never  till  I  take  you  with  me." 

"Don't  say  that!  I  must  send  you  away.  I  must — no 
matter  how  hard  it  may  be  to  part  from  you,"  Saidee  insisted. 
"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  How  should  you  ? 
I  suppose  you  must  have  heard  something.  You  must  anyhow 
suspect  there's  a  secret?" 

"Yes,  Si  Mai'eddine  told  me  that.  He  said,  when  I  talked 
of  my  sister,  and  how  I  was  trying  to  find  her,  that  he'd  once 
known  Cassim.  I  had  to  agree  not  to  ask  questions, —  and  he 
would  never  say  for  certain  whether  Cassim  was  dead  or  not, 
but  he  promised  sacredly  to  bring  me  to  the  place  where  my 
sister  lived.  His  cousin  Leila  M'Barka  Bent  Djellab  was 
with  us, —  very  ill  and  suffering,  but  brave.  We  started  from 
Algiers,  and  he  made  a  mystery  even  of  the  way  we  came, 
though  I  found  out  the  names  of  some  places  we  passed,  like 
El  Aghouat  and  Ghardaia " 

Saidee's  eyes  widened  with  a  sudden  flash.  "What,  you 
came  here  by  El  Aghouat  and  Ghardaia?" 

"Yes.     Isn't  that  the  best  way?" 

"The  best,  if  the  longest  is  the  best.  I  don't  know  much 
about  North  Africa  geographically.  They've  taken  care  I 
shouldn't  know!  But  I — I've  lately  found  out  from — a 
person  who's  made  the  journey,  that  one  can  get  here  from 
Algiers  in  a  week  or  eight  days.  Seventeen  hours  by  train 
to  Biskra:  Biskra  to  Touggourt  two  long  days  in  a  diligence,  or 


336  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

carriage  with  plenty  of  horses;  Touggourt  to  Oued  Tolga  on 
camel  or  horse,  or  mule,  in  three  or  four  days  going  up  and  down 
among  the  great  dunes.  You  must  have  been  weeks  travelling." 

"We  have.     I " 

"How  very  queer!  What  could  Si  Mai'eddine's  reason  have 
been?  Rich  Arabs  love  going  by  train  whenever  they  can. 
Men  who  come  from  far  off  to  see  the  marabout  always  do  as 
much  of  the  journey  as  possible  by  rail.  I  hear  things  about  all 
important  pilgrims.  Then  why  did  Si  Maieddine  bring  you  by 
El  Aghouat  and  Ghardaia  —  especially  when  his  cousin's  an 
invalid?  It  couldn't  have  been  just  because  he  didn't  want 
you  to  be  seen,  because,  as  you're  dressed  like  an  Arab  girl 
no  one  could  guess  he  was  travelling  with  a  European.  " 

"His  father  lives  near  El  Aghouat,"  Victoria  reminded  her 
sister.  And  Maieddine  had  used  this  fact  as  one  excuse, 
when  he  admitted  that  they  might  have  taken  a  shorter  road. 
But  in  her  heart  the  girl  had  guessed  why  the  longest  way 
bad  been  chosen.  She  did  not  wish  to  hide  from  Saidee  things 
which  concerned  herself,  yet  Maleddine's  love  was  his  secret, 
not  hers,  therefore  she  had  not  meant  to  tell  of  it,  and  she  was 
angry  with  herself  for  blushing.  She  blushed  more  and  more 
deeply,  and  Saidee  understood. 

"I  see!  He's  in  love  with  you.  That's  why  he  brought 
you  here.  How  clever  of  him !  How  like  an  Arab ! " 

For  a  moment  Saidee  was  silent,  thinking  intently.  It  could 
not  be  possible,  Victoria  told  herself,  that  the  idea  pleased  her 
sister.  Yet  for  an  instant  the  white  face  lighted  up,  as  if 
Saidee  were  relieved  of  heavy  anxiety. 

She  drew  Victoria  closer,  with  an  arm  round  her  waist. 
"Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said.  "How  you  met  him,  and 
everything." 

The  girl  knew  she  would  have  to  tell,  since  her  sister  had 
guessed,  but  there  were  many  other  things  which  it  seemed 
more  important  to  say  and  hear  first.  She  longed  to  hear  all, 
all  about  Saidee's  existence,  ever  since  the  letters  had  stopped; 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  337 

why  they  had  stopped;  and  whether  the  reason  had  anything  t® 
do  with  the  mystery  about  Cassim.  Saidee  seemed  willing  to 
wait,  apparently,  for  details  of  Victoria's  life,  since  she  wanted 
to  begin  with  the  time  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  Maieddine 
had  come  into  it.  But  the  girl  would  not  believe  that  this 
meant  indifference.  They  must  begin  somewhere.  Why 
should  not  Saidee  be  curious  to  hear  the  end  part  first,  and  go 
back  gradually  ?  Saidee's  silence  had  been  a  torturing  mystery 
for  years,  whereas  about  her,  her  simple  past,  there  was  no 
mystery  to  clear  up. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed.  "But  you  promised  to  tell  me  about 
yourself  and  —  and " 

"I  know.  Oh,  you  shall  hear  the  whole  story.  It  will  seem 
like  a  romance  to  you,  I  suppose,  because  you  haven't  had  to 
live  it,  day  by  day,  year  by  year.  It's  sordid  reality  to  me  — 
oh,  how  sordid !  —  most  of  it.  But  this  about  Maieddine 
changes  everything.  I  must  hear  what's  happened  —  quickly 
—  because  I  shall  have  to  make  a  plan.  It's  very  important  — 
dreadfully  important.  I'll  explain,  when  you've  told  me  more. 
But  there's  time  to  order  something  for  you  to  eat  and  drink, 
first,  if  you're  tired  and  hungry.  You  must  be  both,  poor  child — 
poor,  pretty  child !  You  are  pretty  —  lovely.  No  wonder 
Maieddine  -  -  but  what  will  you  have.  Which  among  our 
horrid  Eastern  foods  do  you  hate  least  ?" 

"I  don't  hate  any  of  them.  But  don't  make  me  eat  or 
drink  now,  please,  dearest.  I  couldn't.  By  and  by.  We 
rested  and  lunched  this  side  of  the  city.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 

should  ever  be  hungry  again.  I'm  so "  Victoria  stopped. 

She  could  not  say:  "I  am  so  happy,"  though  she  ought  to  have 
been  able  to  say  that.  What  was  she,  then,  if  not  happy? 
"I'm  so  excited,"  she  finished. 

Saidee  stroked  the  girl's  hand,  softly.  On  hers  she  wore 
no  ring,  not  even  a  wedding  ring,  though  Cassim  had  put  one 
on  her  finger,  European  fashion,  when  she  was  a  bride.  Vic- 
toria remembered  it  very  well,  among  the  other  rings  he  had 


338  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

given  during  the  short  engagement.  Now  all  were  gone, 
But  on  the  third  finger  of  the  left  hand  was  the  unmistakable 
mark  a  ring  leaves  if  worn  for  many  years.  The  thought  passed 
through  Victoria's  mind  that  it  could  not  be  long  since  Saidee 
had  ceased  to  wear  her  wedding  ring. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  cruel,  or  frighten  you,  my  poor  Babe," 
she  said,  "but — you've  walked  into  a  trap  in  coming  here, 
and  I've  got  to  try  and  save  you.  Thank  heaven  my  hus- 
band's away,  but  we've  no  time  to  lose.  Tell  me  quickly  about 
Maieddine.  I've  heard  a  good  deal  of  him,  from  Cassim,  in  old 
days;  but  tell  me  all  that  concerns  him  and  you.  Don't 
skip  anything,  or  I  can't  judge." 

Saidee's  manner  was  feverishly  emphatic,  but  she  did  not 
look  at  Victoria.  She  watched  her  own  hand  moving  back  and 
forth,  restlessly,  from  the  girl's  finger-tips,  up  the  slender,  bare 
wrist,  and  down  again. 

Victoria  told  how  she  had  seen  Maieddine  on  the  boat,  com- 
ing to  Algiers;  how  he  had  appeared  later  at  the  hotel,  and 
offered  to  help  her,  hinting,  rather  than  saying,  that  he  had  been 
a  friend  of  Cassim's,  and  knew  where  to  find  Cassim's  wife. 
Then  she  went  on  to  the  story  of  the  journey  through  the  desert, 
praising  Maieddine,  and  hesitating  only  when  she  came  to  the 
evening  of  his  confession  and  threat.  But  Saidee  questioned 
her,  and  she  answered. 

"It  came  out  all  right,  you  see,"  she  finished  at  last.  "I 
knew  it  must,  even  in  those  few  minutes  when  I  couldn't  help 
feeling  a  little  afraid,  because  I  seemed  to  be  in  his  power.  But 
of  course  I  wasn't  really.  God's  power  was  over  his,  and  he  felt 
it.  Things  always  do  come  out  right,  if  you  just  know  they  will." 

Saidee  shivered  a  little,  though  her  hand  on  Victoria's  was 
hot.  "I  wish  I  could  think  like  that,"  she  half  whispered.  "If 
I  could,  I  - 

"What,  dearest?" 

"I  should  be  brave,  that's  all.  I've  lost  my  spirit  —  lost 
faith,  too  —  as  I've  lost  everything  else.  I  used  to  be  quite 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  339 

a  good  sort  of  girl;  but  what  can  you  expect  after  ten  years 
shut  up  in  a  Mussulman  harem  ?  It's  something  in  my  favour 
that  they  never  succeeded  in  'converting'  me,  as  they  almost 
always  do  with  a  European  woman  when  they've  shut  her  up 
—  just  by  tiring  her  out.  But  they  only  made  me  sullen  and 
stupid.  I  don't  believe  in  anything  now.  You  talk  about 
'God's  power.'  He's  never  helped  me.  I  should  think  'things 
came  right'  more  because  Ma'ieddine  felt  you  couldn't  get 
away  from  him,  then  and  later,  and  because  he  didn't  want  to 
offend  the  marabout,  than  because  God  troubled  to  interfere. 
Besides,  things  haven't  come  right.  If  it  weren't  for  Mai'eddine, 
I  might  smuggle  you  away  somehow,  before  the  marabout 
arrives.  But  now,  Mai'eddine  will  be  watching  us  like  a 
lynx — or  like  an  Arab.  It's  the  same  thing  where  women 
are  concerned." 

"Why  should  the  marabout  care  what  I  do?"  asked  Vic- 
toria. "He's  nothing  to  us,  is  he? — except  that  I  suppose 
Cassim  must  have  some  high  position  in  his  Zaoui'a." 

"A  high  position!  I  forgot,  you  couldn't  know — since 
Mai'eddine  hid  everything  from  you.  An  Arab  man  never 
trusts  a  woman  to  keep  a  secret,  no  matter  how  much  in  love 
he  may  be.  He  was  evidently  afraid  you'd  tell  some  one  the 
great  secret  on  the  way.  But  now  you're  here,  he  won't  care 
what  you  find  out,  because  he  knows  perfectly  well  that  you 
can  never  get  away." 

Victoria  started,  and  turned  fully  round  to  stare  at  her  sister 
with  wide,  bright  eyes.  "I  can  and  I  wrill  get  away!"  she 
exclaimed.  "With  you.  Never  without  you,  of  course. 
That's  why  I  came,  as  I  said.  To  take  you  away  if  you  are 
unhappy.  Not  all  the  marabouts  in  Islam  can  keep  you,  dear- 
est, because  they  have  no  right  over  you  —  and  this  is  the 
twentieth  century,  not  hundreds  of  years  ago,  in  the  dark  ages." 

"Hundreds  of  years  in  the  future,  it  will  still  be  the  dark 
ages  in  Islam.  And  this  marabout  thinks  he  has  a  right  over 
me." 


340  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"But  if  you  know  he  hasn't  ?" 

"I'm  beginning  to  know  it — beginning  to  feel  it,  anyhow. 
To  feel  that  legally  and  morally  I'm  free.  But  law  and  morals 
can't  break  down  walls." 

"I  believe  they  can.     And  if  Cassim " 

"My  poor  child,  when  Cassim  ben  Halim  died  — at  a  very 
convenient  time  for  himself  —  Sidi  El  Hadj  Mohammed  ben 
Abd-el-Kadr  appeared  to  claim  this  maraboutship,  left  vacant 
by  the  third  marabout  in  the  line,  an  old,  old  man  whose  death 
happened  a  few  weeks  before  Cassim's.  This  present  mara- 
bout was  his  next  of  kin  —  or  so  everybody  believes.  And  that's 
the  way  saintships  pass  on  in  Islam,  just  as  titles  and  estates 
do  in  other  countries.  Now  do  you  begin  to  understand  the 
mystery?" 

"Not  quite.     I  - 

"You  heard  in  Algiers  that  Cassim  had  died  in  Constanti- 
nople?" 

"Yes,     The  Governor  himself  said  so." 

"The  Governor  believes  so.  Every  one  believes — except 
a  wretched  hump-backed  idiot  in  Morocco,  who  sold  his  inheri- 
tance to  save  himself  trouble,  because  he  didn't  want  to  leave 
his  home,  or  bother  to  be  a  marabout.  Perhaps  he's  dead  by 
this  time,  in  one  way  or  another.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised.  If 
he  is,  Maiieddine  and  Maieddine's  father,  and  a  few  other  power- 
ful friends  of  Cassim's,  are  the  only  ones  left  who  know  the 
truth,  even  a  part  of  it.  And  the  great  Sidi  El  Hadj  Mohammed 
himself." 

"Oh,  Saidee — Cassim  is  the  marabout!" 

"Sh!  Now  you  know  the  secret  that's  kept  me  a  prisoner 
in  his  house  long,  long  after  he'd  tired  of  me,  and  would  have 
got  rid  of  me  if  he'd  dared  —  and  if  he  hadn't  been  afraid  in 
his  cruel,  jealous  way,  that  I  might  find  a  little  happiness  in 
my  own  country.  And  worse  still,  it's  the  secret  that  will  keep 
you  a  prisoner,  too,  unless  you  make  up  your  mind  to  do  the 
one  thing  which  can  possibly  help  you." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  341 

"What  thing?"  Victoria  could  not  believe  that  the  answer 
which  darted  into  her  mind  was  the  one  Saidee  really  meant 
to  give. 

Saidee's  lips  opened,  but  with  the  girl's  eyes  gazing  straight 
into  hers,  it  was  harder  to  speak  than  she  had  thought.  Out 
of  them  looked  a  highly  sensitive  yet  brave  spirit,  so  true,  so 
loving  and  loyal,  that  disloyalty  to  it  was  a  crime — even  though 
another  love  demanded  it. 

"I  —  I  hate  to  tell  you,"  she  stammered.  "Only,  what  can 
I  do  ?  If  Mai'eddine  hadn't  loved  you  —  but  if  he  hadn't,  you 
wouldn't  be  here.  And  being  here,  we  —  we  must  just  face  the 
facts.  The  man  who  calls  himself  my  husband  —  I  can't  think 
of  him  as  being  that  any  more  —  is  like  a  king  in  this  country. 
He  has  even  more  power  than  most  kings  have  nowadays. 
He'll  give  you  to  Maieddine  when  he  comes  home,  if  Ma'feddine 
asks  him,  as  of  course  he  will.  Maieddine  wouldn't  have  given 
you  up,  there  in  the  desert,  if  he  hadn't  been  sure  he  could  bribe 
the  marabout  to  do  exactly  what  he  wanted." 

"  But  why  can't  I  bribe  him  ?  "  Victoria  persisted,  hopefully. 
"  If  he's  truly  tired  of  you,  my  money " 

"He'd  laugh  at  you  for  offering  it,  and  say  you  might  keep 
it  for  a  dot.  He's  too  rich  to  be  tempted  with  money,  unless  it 
was  far  more  than  you  or  I  have  ever  seen.  From  his  oasis 
alone  he  has  an  income  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars; 
and  presents  —  large  ones  and  small  ones  —  come  to  him  from 
all  over  North  Africa  —  from  France,  even.  All  the  Faith- 
ful in  the  desert,  for  hundreds  of  miles  around,  give  him  their 
first  and  best  dates  of  the  year,  their  first-born  camels,  their 
first  foals,  and  lambs,  and  mules,  in  return  for  his  blessing  on 
their  palms  and  flocks.  He  has  wonderful  rugs,  and  gold 
plate,  and  jewels,  more  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with,  though 
he's  very  charitable.  He's  obliged  to  be,  to  keep  up  his  reputa- 
tion and  the  reputation  of  the  Zaoui'a.  Everything  depends 
on  that  —  all  his  ambitions,  which  he  thinks  I  hardly  know. 
But  I  do  know.  And  that's  why  I  know  that  Mai'eddine  will  be 


342  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

able  to  bribe  him.  Not  with  money:  with  something  Cassim 
wants  and  values  far  more  than  money.  You  wouldn't  under- 
stand what  I  mean  unless  I  explained  a  good  many  things,  and  it's 
hardly  the  time  for  explaining  more  now.  You  must  just  take 
what  I  say  for  granted,  until  I  can  tell  you  everything  by  and  by. 
But  there  are  enormous  interests  mixed  up  with  the  mara- 
bout's ambitions  —  things  which  concern  all  Africa.  Is  it  likely 
he'll  let  you  and  me  go  free  to  tell  secrets  that  would  ruin  him 
and  his  hopes  for  ever?" 

"We  wouldn't  tell." 

"Didn't  I  say  that  an  Arab  never  trusts  a  woman?  He'd 
kill  us  sooner  than  let  us  go.  And  you've  learned  nothing  about 
Arab  men  if  you  think  Ma'ieddine  will  give  you  up  and  see  you 
walk  out  of  his  life  after  all  the  trouble  he's  taken  to  get  you 
tangled  up  in  it.  That's  why  we've  got  to  look  facts  in  the 
face.  You  meant  to  help  me,  dear,  but  you  can't.  You  can 
only  make  me  miserable,  because  you've  spoiled  your  happi- 
ness for  my  sake.  Poor  little  Babe,  you've  wandered  far,  far 
out  of  the  zone  of  happiness,  and  you  can  never  get  back.  All 
you  can  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain." 

"  I  asked  you  to  explain  that,  but  you  haven't  yet." 

"  You  must  —  promise  Ma'ieddine  what  he  asks,  before  Cassim 
comes  back  from  South  Oran." 

This  was  the  thing  Victoria  had  feared,  but  could  not  believe 
Saidee  would  propose.  She  shrank  a  little,  and  Saidee  saw  it. 
"Don't  misunderstand,"  the  elder  woman  pleaded  in  the  soft 
voice  which  pronounced  English  almost  like  a  foreign  language. 
*'  I  tell  you,  we  can't  choose  what  we  want  to  do,  you  and  I. 
If  you  wait  for  Cassim  to  be  here,  it  will  come  to  the  same  thing, 
but  it  will  be  fifty  times  worse,  because  then  you'll  have  the 
humiliation  of  being  forced  to  do  what  you  might  seem  to  do 
now  of  your  own  free  will." 

"I  can't  be  forced  to  marry  Ma'ieddine.  Nothing  could 
make  me  do  it.  He  knows  that  already,  unless 

"  Unless  what  ?     Why  do  you  look  horrified  ?  " 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  348 

"There's  one  thing  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  our  talk  in  the 
desert.  I  promised  him  I  would  say  'yes'  in  case  something 
happened  —  something  I  thought  then  couldn't  happen." 

"  But  you  find  now  it  could  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  —  no,  I  don't  believe  it  could." 

"You'd  better  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"That  you  —  I  said,  I  would  promise  to  marry  him  if  you 
wished  it.  He  asked  me  to  promise  that,  and  I  did, 
at  once." 

A  slow  colour  crept  over  Saidee's  face,  up  to  her  forehead. 
"You  trusted  me,"  she  murmured. 

"  And  I  do  now  —  with  all  my  heart.  Only  you've  lived 
here,  out  of  the  world,  alone  and  sad  for  so  long,  that  you're 
afraid  of  things  I'm  not  afraid  of." 

"I'm  afraid  because  I  know  what  cause  there  is  for  fear. 
But  you're  right.  My  life  has  made  me  a  coward.  I  can't 
help  it." 

"Yes,  you  can  —  I've  come  to  help  you  help  it." 

"How  little  you  understand!  They'll  use  you  against  me, 
me  against  you.  If  you  knew  I  were  being  tortured,  and  you 
could  save  me  by  marrying  Mai'eddine,  what  would 
you  do  ? " 

Victoria's  hand  trembled  in  her  sister's,  which  closed  on  it 
nervously.  "I  would  marry  him  that  very  minute,  of  course. 
But  such  things  don't  happen." 

"  They  do.  That's  exactly  what  will  happen,  unless  you  tell 
Mai'eddine  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  say  'yes'.  You  can 
explain  that  it's  by  my  advice.  He'll  understand.  But  he'll 
respect  you,  and  won't  be  furious  at  your  resistance,  and  want 
to  revenge  himself  on  you  in  future,  as  he  will  if  you  wait  to 
be  forced  into  consenting." 

Victoria  sprang  up  and  walked  away,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands.  Her  sister  watched  her  as  ft  fascinated,  and  felt 
sick  as  she  saw  how  the  girl  shuddered.  It  was  like  watching 
a  trapped  bird  bleeding  to  death.  But  she  too  was  in  the 


344  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

trap,  she  reminded  herself.  Really,  there  was  no  way  out, 
except  through  Maieddine.  She  said  this  over  and  over  in  her 
mind.  There  was  no  other  way  out.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
cruel  or  selfish.  She  was  thinking  of  her  sister's  good. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  that,  she  told  herself:  no  doubt 
whatever. 


xxxvn 

VICTORIA  felt  as  if  all  her  blood  were  beating  in 
her  brain.     She   could   not   think,  and   dimly   she 
was  glad   that  Saidee   did  not  speak   again.     She 
could    not    have    borne    more    of   those    hatefully 
specious  arguments. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  still,  pressing  her  hands  over  her 
eyes,  and  against  her  temples.  Then,  without  turning,  she 
walked  almost  blindly  to  a  window  that  opened  upon  Saidee 's 
garden.  The  little  court  was  a  silver  cube  of  moonlight,  so 
bright  that  everything  white  looked  alive  with  a  strange,  spirit- 
ual intelligence.  The  scent  of  the  orange  blossoms  was  lus- 
ciously sweet.  She  shrank  back,  remembering  the  orange- 
court  at  the  Cai'd's  house  in  Ouargla.  It  was  there 
that  Zorah  had  prophesied :  "  Never  wilt  thou  come  this 
way  again." 

"I'm  tired,  after  all,"  the  girl  said  dully,  turning  to  Saidee, 
but  leaning  against  the  window  frame.  "I  didn't  realize 
it  before.  The  perfume  —  won't  let  me  think." 

"You  look  dreadfully  white!"  exclaimed  Saidee.  "Are  you 
going  to  faint?  Lie  down  here  on  this  divan.  I'll  send  for 
something." 

"No,  no.  Don't  send.  And  I  won't  faint.  But  I  want  to 
think.  Can  I  go  out  into  the  air  —  not  where  the  orange 
blossoms  are?" 

"  I'll  take  you  on  to  the  roof,"  Saidee  said.  " It's  my  favourite 
place  —  looking  over  the  desert." 

She  put  her  arm  round  Victoria,  leading  her  to  the  stairway, 
and  so  to  the  roof. 

S45 


346  THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE 

"Are  you  better?"  she  asked,  miserably.  "What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"Let's  not  speak  for  a  little  while,  please.  I  can 
think  now.  Soon  I  shall  be  well.  Don't  be  anxious 
about  me,  darling." 

Very  gently  she  slipped  away  from  Saidee's  arm  that  clasped 
her  waist;  and  the  softness  of  the  young  voice,  which  had  been 
sharp  with  pain,  touched  the  elder  woman.  She  knew  that  the 
girl  was  thinking  more  of  her,  Saidee,  than  of  herself. 

Victoria  leaned  on  the  white  parapet,  and  looked  down  over 
the  desert,  where  the  sand  rippled  in  silvery  lines  and  waves, 
like  water  in  moonlight. 

"The  golden  silence!"  she  thought. 

It  was  silver  now,  not  golden;  but  she  knew  that  this  was 
the  place  of  her  dream.  On  a  white  roof  like  this,  she  had 
seen  Saidee  stand  with  eyes  shaded  from  the  sun  in  the  west; 
waiting  for  her,  calling  for  her,  or  so  she  had  believed.  Poor 
Saidee!  Poor,  beautiful  Saidee;  changed  in  soul,  though  so 
little  changed  in  face!  Could  it  be  that  she  had  never  called 
in  spirit  to  her  sister  ? 

Victoria  bowed  her  head,  and  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  upon 
her  cold  bare  arms,  crossed  on  the  white  wall. 

Saidee  did  not  want  her.  Saidee  was  sorry  that  she  had 
come.  Her  coming  had  only  made  things  worse. 

"I  wish  —  "  the  girl  was  on  the  point  of  saying  to  herself  — 
"I  wish  I'd  never  been  born."  But  before  the  words  shaped 
themselves  fully  in  her  mind  —  terrible  words,  because  she 
had  felt  the  beauty  and  sacred  meaning  of  life  —  the  desert 
spoke  to  her. 

"Saidee  does  want  you,"  the  spirit  of  the  wind  and  the  glim- 
mering sands  seemed  to  say.  "If  she  had  not  wanted  you,  do 
you  think  you  would  have  been  shown  this  picture,  with  your 
sister  in  it,  the  picture  which  brought  you  half  across  the  world  ? 
She  called  once,  long  ago,  and  you  heard  the  call.  You  were 
allowed  to  hear  it.  Are  you  so  weak  as  to  believe,  just  because 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  347 

you're  hurt  and  suffering,  that  such  messages  between  hearts 
mean  nothing  ?  Saidee  may  not  know  that  she  wants  you,  but 
she  does,  and  needs  you  more  than  ever  before.  This  is  your 
hour  of  temptation.  You  thought  everything  was  going  to  be 
wonderfully  easy,  almost  too  easy,  and  instead,  it  is  difficult, 
that's  all.  But  be  brave  for  Saidee  and  yourself,  now  and  in 
days  to  come,  for  you  are  here  only  just  in  time." 

The  pure,  strong  wind  blowing  over  the  dunes  was  a  tonic 
to  Victoria's  soul,  and  she  breathed  it  eagerly.  Catching  at 
the  robe  of  faith,  she  held  the  spirit  fast,  and  it  stayed  with  her. 

Suddenly  she  felt  at  peace,  sure  as  a  child  that  she  would  be 
taught  what  to  do  next.  There  was  her  star,  floating  in  the 
blue  lake  of  the  sky,  like  a  water  lily,  where  millions  of  lesser 
lilies  blossomed. 

"Dear  star,"  she  whispered,  "thank  you  for  coming.  1 
needed  you  just  then." 

"Are  you  better?"  asked  Saidee  in  a  choked  voice. 

Victoria  turned  away  from  sky  and  desert  to  the  drooping 
figure  of  the  woman,  standing  in  a  pool  of  shadow,  dark  as 
fear  and  treachery. 

"Yes,  dearest  one,  I  am  well  again,  and  I  won't  have  to 
worry  you  any  more."  The  girl  gently  wound  two  protecting 
arms  round  her  sister. 

"What  have  you  decided  to  do?" 

Victoria  could  feel  Saidee's  heart  beating  against  her  own. 

"I've  decided  to  pray  about  deciding,  and  then  to  decide. 
Whatever's  best  for  you,  I  will  do,  I  promise." 

"And  for  yourself.  Don't  forget  that  I'm  thinking  of  you. 
Don't  believe  it's  all  cowardice." 

"I  don't  believe  anything  but  good  of  my  Saidee." 

"I  envy  you,  because  you  think  you've  got  Someone  to  pray 
to.  I've  nothing.  I'm  —  alone  in  the  dark." 

Victoria  made  her  look  up  at  the  moon  which  flooded  the 
night  with  a  sea  of  radiance.  "There  is  no  dark,"  she  said. 
"We're  together  — in  the  light." 


348  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"How  hopeful  you  are!"  Saidee  murmured.  "I've  left 
hope  so  far  behind,  I've  almost  forgotten  what  it's  like." 

"Maybe  it's  always  been  hovering  just  over  your  shoulder, 
only  you  forgot  to  turn  and  see.  It  can't  be  gone,  because  I 
feel  sure  that  truth  and  knowledge  and  hope  are  all  one." 

"I  wonder  if  you'll  still  feel  so  when  you've  married  a  man 
of  another  race  —  as  I  have  ?" 

Victoria  did  not  answer.  She  had  to  conquer  the  little  cold 
thrill  of  superstitious  fear  which  crept  through  her  veins,  as 
Saidee's  words  reminded  her  of  M'Barka's  sand-divining.  She 
had  to  find  courage  again  from  "her  star,"  before  she  could 
speak. 

"Forgive  me,  Babe!"  said  Saidee,  stricken  by  the  look  in  the 
lifted  eyes.  "I  wish  I  needn't  remind  you  of  anything  horrid 
to-night  —  your  first  night  with  me  after  all  these  years.  But 
we  have  so  little  time.  What  else  can  I  do?" 

"I  shall  know  by  to-morrow  what  we  are  to  do,"  Victoria  said 
cheerfully.  "Because  I  shall  take  counsel  of  the  night." 

"You're  a  very  odd  girl,"  the  woman  reflected  aloud.  "  When 
you  were  a  tiny  thing,  you  used  to  have  the  weirdest  thoughts, 
and  do  the  quaintest  things.  I  was  sure  you'd  grow  up  to  be 
absolutely  different  from  any  other  human  being.  And  so  you 
have,  I  think.  Only  an  extraordinary  sort  of  girl  could  ever 
have  made  her  way  without  help  from  Potterston,  Indiana, 
to  Oued  Tolga  in  North  Africa." 

"I  had  help  —  every  minute.  Saidee  —  did  you  think  of 
me  sometimes,  when  you  were  standing  here  on  this  roof?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  thought  of  you  often  —  only  not  so  often 
lately  as  at  first,  because  for  a  long  time  now  I've  been  numb. 
I  haven't  thought  much  or  cared  much  about  anything,  or  —  or 
any  one  except " 

"  Except  - 

"Except  —  except  myself,  I'm  afraid."  Saidee's  face  was 
turned  away  from  Victoria's.  She  looked  toward  Oued  Tolga, 
the  city,  whither  the  carrier-pigeon  had  flown. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  949 

"I  wondered,"  she  went  on  hastily,  "what  had  become  of  you,  ^ 
and  if  you  were  happy,  and  whether  by  this  time  you'd  nearly 
forgotten  me.     You  were  such  a  baby  child  when  I  left  you ! " 

"I  won't  believe  you  really  wondered  if  I  could  forget.  You, 
and  thoughts  of  you,  have  made  my  whole  life.  I  was  just 
living  for  the  time  when  I  could  earn  money  enough  to  search 
for  you  —  and  preparing  for  it,  of  course,  so  as  to  be  ready 
when  it  came." 

Saidee  still  looked  toward  Oued  Tolga,  where  the  white 
domes  shimmered,  far  away  in  the  moonlight,  like  a  mirage. 
Was  love  a  mirage,  too  ?  —  the  love  that  called  for  her  over 
there,  the  love  whose  voice  made  the  strings  of  her  heart  vibrate, 
though  she  had  thought  them  broken  and  silent  for  ever.  Vic- 
toria's arms  round  her  felt  strong  and  warm,  yet  they  were  a 
barrier.  She  was  afraid  of  the  barrier,  and  afraid  of  the  girl's 
passionate  loyalty.  She  did  not  deserve  it,  she  knew,  and  she 
would  be  more  at  ease  —  she  could  not  say  happier,  because 
there  was  no  such  word  as  happiness  for  her  —  without  it. 
Somehow  she  could  not  bear  to  talk  of  Victoria's  struggle  to 
come  to  her  rescue.  The  thought  of  all  the  girl  had  done 
made  her  feel  unable  to  live  up  to  it,  or  be  grateful.  She  did 
not 'want  to  be  called  upon  to  live  up  to  any  standard.  She 
wanted  —  if  she  wanted  anything  —  simply  to  go  on  blindly, 
as  fate  led.  But  she  felt  that  near  her  fate  hovered,  like  the 
carrier-pigeon;  and  some  terrible  force  within  herself,  which 
frightened  her,  seemed  ready  to  push  away  or  destroy  anything 
that  might  come  between  her  and  that  fate.  She  knew  that  she 
ought  to  question  Victoria  about  the  past  years  of  their  separa- 
tion, one  side  of  her  nature  was  eager  to  hear  the  story.  But 
the  other  side,  which  had  gained  strength  lately,  forced  her  to 
dwell  upon  less  intimate  things. 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Ray  managed  to  keep  most  of  poor  father's 
money?"  she  said. 

"Mrs.  Ray  died  when  I  was  fourteen,  and  after  that  Mr. 
Potter  lost  everything  in  speculation,"  the  girl  answered. 


350  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Everything  of  yours,  too  ?" 

"Yes.  But  it  didn't  matter,  except  for  the  delay.  My 
dancing  —  your  dancing  really,  dearest,  because  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you  I  shouldn't  have  put  my  heart  into  it  so  —  earned 
me  all  I  needed." 

"I  said  you  were  extraordinary!  But  how  queer  it  seems  to 
hear  those  names  again.  Mrs.  Ray.  Mr.  Potter.  They're 
like  names  in  a  dream.  How  wretched  I  used  to  think  myself, 
with  Mrs.  Ray  in  Paris,  when  she  was  so  jealous  and  cross! 
But  a  thousand  times  since,  I've  wished  myself  back  in  those 
days.  I  was  happy,  really.  I  was  free.  Life  was  all  before 
me." 

"Dearest!  But  surely  you  weren't  miserable  from  the  very 
first,  with  —  with  Cassim?" 

"No-o.  I  suppose  I  wasn't.  I  was  in  love  with  him.  It 
seemed  very  interesting  to  be  the  wife  of  such  a  man.  Even 
when  I  found  that  he  meant  to  make  me  lead  the  life  of  an 
Arab  woman,  shut  up  and  veiled,  I  liked  him  too  well  to  mind 
much.  He  put  it  in  such  a  romantic  way,  telling  me  how  he 
worshipped  me,  how  mad  with  jealousy  he  was  even  to  think 
of  other  men  seeing  my  face,  and  falling  in  love  with  it.  He 
thought  every  one  must  fall  in  love !  All  girls  like  men  to  be 
jealous  —  till  they  find  out  how  sordid  jealousy  can  be.  And 
iSvas  so  young  —  a  child.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  living  in  a  wonder- 
ful Eastern  poem.  Cassim  used  to  give  me  the  most  gorgeous 
presents,  and  our  house  in  Algiers  was  beautiful.  My  garden 
was  a  dream  —  and  how  he  made  love  to  me  in  it !  Besides,  I 
was  allowed  to  go  out,  veiled.  It  was  rather  fun  being  veiled  — 
in  those  days,  I  thought  so.  It  made  me  feel  mysterious,  as 
if  life  were  a  masquerade  ball.  And  the  Arab  women  Cassim 
let  me  know  —  a  very  few,  wives  and  sisters  of  his  friends  — 
envied  me  immensely.  I  loved  that  —  I  was  so  silly.  And 
they  flattered  me,  asking  about  my  life  in  Europe.  I  was  like 
a  fairy  princess  among  them,  until  —  one  day  —  a  woman 
told  me  a  thing  about  Cassim.  She  told  me  because  she  was 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  351 

spiteful  and  wanted  to  make  me  miserable,  of  course,  for  I 
found  out  afterwards  she'd  been  expressly  forbidden  to  speak, 
on  account  of  my  'prejudices'  —  they'd  all  been  forbidden. 
I  wouldn't  believe  at  first, —  but  it  was  true — the  others  couldn't 
deny  it.  And  to  prove  what  she  said,  the  woman  took  me  to 
see  the  boy,  who  was  with  his  grandmother  —  an  aunt  of 
Maieddine's,  dead  now." 

"The  boy?" 

"Oh,  I  forgot.  I  haven't  explained.  The  thing  she  told 
was,  that  Cassim  had  a  wife  living  when  he  married  me." 

"Saidee! —  how  horrible!     How  horrible!" 

"Yes,  it  was  horrible.  It  broke  my  heart."  Saidee  was 
tingling  with  excitement  now.  Her  stiff,  miserable  restraint 
was  gone  in  the  feverish  satisfaction  of  speaking  out  those 
things  which  for  years  had  corroded  her  mind,  like  verdigris. 
She  had  never  been  able  to  talk  to  anyone  in  this  way,  and  her 
only  relief  had  been  in  putting  her  thoughts  on  paper.  Some 
of  the  books  in  her  locked  cupboard  she  had  given  to  a  friend, 
the  writer  of  to-day's  letter,  because  she  had  seen  him  only  for 
a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  and  had  been  able  to  say  very  little, 
on  the  one  occasion  when  they  had  spoken  a  few  words  to  each 
other.  She  had  wanted  him  to  know  what  a  martyrdom  her 
life  had  been.  Involuntarily  she  talked  to  her  sister,  now,  as 
she  would  have  talked  to  him,  and  his  face  rose  clearly 
before  her  eyes,  more  clearly  almost  than  Victoria's, 
which  her  own  shadow  darkened,  and  screened  from  the 
light  of  the  moon  as  they  stood  together,  clasped  in  one 
another's  arms. 

"Cassim  thought  it  all  right,  of  course,"  she  went  on.  "A 
Mussulman  may  have  four  wives  at  a  time  if  he  likes  —  though 
men  of  his  rank  don't,  as  a  rule,  take  more  than  one,  because 
they  must  marry  women  of  high  birth,  who  hate  rivals  in  their 
own  house.  But  he  was  too  clever  to  give  me  a  hint  of  his  real 
opinions  in  Paris.  He  knew  I  wouldn't  have  looked  at  him 
again,  if  he  had  —  even  if  he  hadn't  told  me  about  the  wife 


352  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

herself.  She  had  had  this  boy,  and  gone  out  of  her  mind  after- 
wards, so  she  wasn't  living  with  Cassim  —  that  was  the  excuse 
he  made  when  I  taxed  him  with  deceiving  me.  Her  father 
and  mother  had  taken  her  back.  I  don't  know  surely  whether 
she's  living  or  dead,  but  I  believe  she's  dead,  and  her  body 
buried  beside  the  grave  supposed  to  be  Cassim's.  Anyhow, 
the  boy's  living,  and  he's  the  one  thing  on  earth  Cassim  loves 
better  than  himself." 

"When  did  you  find  out  about  —  about  all  this?"  Victoria 
asked,  almost  whispering. 

"Eight  months  after  we  were  married  I  heard  about  his  wife. 
I  think  Cassim  was  true  to  me,  in  his  way,  till  that  time.  But 
we  had  an  awful  scene.  I  told  him  I'd  never  live  with  him  again 
as  his  wife,  and  I  never  have.  After  that  day,  everything  was 
different.  No  more  happiness  —  not  even  an  Arab  woman's 
idea  of  happiness.  Cassim  began  to  hate  me,  but  with  the 
kind  of  hate  that  holds  and  won't  let  go.  He  wouldn't  listen 
when  I  begged  him  to  set  me  free.  Instead,  he  wouldn't  let 
me  go  out  at  all,  or  see  anyone,  or  receive  or  send  letters.  He 
punished  me  by  flirting  outrageously  with  a  pretty  woman, 
the  wife  of  a  French  officer.  He  took  pains  that  I  should  hear 
everything,  through  my  servants.  But  his  cruelty  was  visited 
on  his  own  head,  for  soon  there  came  a  dreadful  scandal.  The 
woman  died  suddenly  of  chloral  poisoning,  after  a  quarrel  with 
her  husband  on  Cassim's  account,  and  it  was  thought  she'd 
taken  too  much  of  the  drug  on  purpose.  The  day  after  his 
wife's  death,  the  officer  shot  himself.  I  think  he  was  a  colonel ; 
and  every  one  knew  that  Cassim  was  mixed  up  in  the  affair. 
He  had  to  leave  the  army,  and  it  seemed  —  he  thought  so  him- 
self —  that  his  career  was  ruined.  He  sold  his  place  in  Algiers, 
and  took  me  to  a  farm-house  in  the  country  where  we  lived  for 
a  while,  and  he  was  so  lonely  and  miserable  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  make  up,  but  how  could  I  forgive  him  ?  He'd 
deceived  me  too  horribly  —  and  besides,  in  my  own  eyes  I 
wasn't  his  wife.  Surely  our  marriage  wouldn't  be  considered 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  353 

legal  in  any  country  outside  Islam,  would  it?  Even  you,  a 
child  like  you,  must  see  that?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Victoria  answered,  sadly.     "But " 

"There's  no  'but.'  I  thought  so  then.  I  think  so  a  hun- 
dred times  more  now.  My  life's  been  a  martyrdom.  No  one 
could  blame  me  if  —  but  I  was  telling  you  about  what  happened 
after  Algiers.  There  was  a  kind  of  armed  truce  between  us 
in  the  country,  though  we  lived  only  like  two  acquaintances 
under  the  same  roof.  For  months  he  had  nobody  else  to  talk 
to,  so  he  used  to  talk  with  me  —  quite  freely  sometimes,  about 
a  plan  some  powerful  Arabs,  friends  of  his  —  Ma'ieddine  and  his 
father  among  others  —  were  making  for  him.  It  sounded  like 
a  fairy  story,  and  I  used  to  think  he  must  be  going  mad.  But  he 
wasn't.  It  was  all  true  about  the  plot  that  was  being  worked. 
He  knew  I  couldn't  betray  him,  so  it  was  a  relief  to  his  mind, 
in  his  nervous  excitement,  to  confide  in  me." 

"Was  it  a  plot  against  the  French  ?" 

"Indirectly.  That  was  one  reason  it  appealed  to  Cassim. 
He'd  been  proud  of  his  position  in  the  army,  and  being  turned 
out,  or  forced  to  go  —  much  the  same  thing  —  made  him  hate 
France  and  everything  French.  He'd  have  given  his  life  for 
revenge,  I'm  sure.  Probably  that's  why  his  friends  were  so 
anxious  to  put  him  in  a  place  of  power,  for  they  were  men  whose 
watchword  was  'Islam  for  Islam.'  Their  hope  was  —  and  is  — 
to  turn  France  out  of  North  Africa.  You  wouldn't  believe 
how  many  there  are  who  hope  and  band  themselves  together 
for  that.  These  friends  of  Cassim's  persuaded  and  bribed  a 
wretched  cripple  —  who  was  next  of  kin  to  the  last  marabout, 
and  ought  to  have  inherited  —  to  let  Cassim  take  his  place. 
Secretly,  of  course.  It  was  a  very  elaborate  plot  —  it  had  to  be. 
Three  or  four  rich,  important  men  were  in  it,  and  it  would  have 
meant  ruin  if  they'd  been  found  out. 

"Cassim  would  really  have  come  next  in  succession  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  hunchback,  who  lived  in  Morocco,  just  over 
the  border.  If  he  had  any  conscience,  I  suppose  that  thought 


364  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

soothed  it.  He  told  me  that  the  real  heir  —  the  cripple  —  had 
epileptic  fits,  and  couldn't  live  long,  anyhow.  The  way  they 
worked  their  plan  out  was  by  Cassim's  starting  for  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Mecca.  I  had  to  go  away  with  him,  because  he  was 
afraid  to  leave  me.  I  knew  too  much.  And  it  was  simpler 
to  take  me  than  to  put  me  out  of  the  way." 

"Saidee  —  he  would  never  have  murdered  you?"  Victoria 
whispered. 

"He  would  if  necessary  —  I'm  sure  of  it.  But  it  was  safer 
not.  Besides,  I'd  often  told  him  I  wanted  to  die,  so  that  was 
an  incentive  to  keep  me  alive.  I  didn't  go  to  Mecca.  I  left 
the  farm-house  with  Cassim,  and  he  took  me  to  South  Oran, 
where  he  is  now.  I  had  to  stay  in  the  care  of  a  marabou ta,  "a 
terrible  old  woman,  a  bigot  and  a  tyrant,  a  cousin  of  Cassim's, 
on  his  mother's  side,  and  a  sister  of  the  man  who  invented  the 
whole  plot.  The  idea  was  that  Cassim  should  seem  to  be 
drowned  in  the  Bosphorus,  while  staying  at  Constantinople  with 
friends,  after  his  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  But  luckily  for  him 
there  was  a  big  fire  in  the  hotel  where  he  went  to  stop  for  the 
first  night,  so  he  just  disappeared,  and  a  lot  of  trouble  was 
saved.  He  told  me  about  the  adventure,  when  he  came  to  Oran. 
The  next  move  was  to  Morocco.  And  from  Morocco  he 
travelled  here,  in  place  of  the  cripple,  when  the  last  marabout 
died,  and  the  heir  was  called  to  his  inheritance.  That  was 
nearly  eight  years  ago." 

"And  he's  never  been  found  out?" 

"No.  And  he  never  will  be.  He's  far  too  clever.  Out- 
wardly he's  hand  in  glove  with  the  French.  High  officials 
and  officers  come  here  to  consult  with  him,  because  he's  known 
to  have  immense  influence  all  over  the  South,  and  in  the  West, 
even  in  Morocco.  He's  masked,  like  a  Touareg,  and  the 
French  believe  it's  because  of  a  vow  he  made  in  Mecca.  No  one 
but  his  most  intimate  friends,  or  his  own  people,  have  ever 
seen  the  face  of  Sidi  Mohammed  since  he  inherited  the  mara- 
boutship,  and  came  to  Oued  Tolga.  He  must  hate  wearing 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  355 

his  mask,  for  he's  as  handsome  as  he  ever  was,  and  just  as  vain. 
But  it's  worth  the  sacrifice.  Not  only  is  he  a  great  man,  with 
everything  —  or  nearly  everything  —  he  wants  in  the  world, 
but  he  looks  forward  to  a  glorious  revenge  against  the  French, 
whose  interests  he  pretends  to  serve." 

"How  can  he  revenge  himself?  What  power  has  he  to  da 
that?"  the  girl  asked.  She  had  a  strange  impression  that 
Saidee  had  forgotten  her,  that  all  this  talk  of  the  past,  and  of 
the  marabout,  was  for  some  one  else  of  whom  her  sister  was 
thinking. 

"He  has  tremendous  power,"  Saidee  answered,  almost 
angrily,  as  if  she  resented  the  doubt.  "All  Islam  is  at  his  back. 
The  French  humour  him,  and  let  him  do  whatever  he  likes,  no- 
matter  how  eccentric  his  ways  may  be,  because  he's  got  them 
to  believe  he  is  trying  to  help  the  Government  in  the  wildest 
part  of  Algeria,  the  province  of  Oran  —  and  with  the  Touaregs 
in  the  farthest  South;  and  that  he  promotes  French  interests 
in  Morocco.  Really,  he's  at  the  head  of  every  religious  secret 
society  in  North  Africa,  banded  together  to  turn  Christians  out 
of  Mussulman  countries.  The  French  have  no  idea  how 
many  such  secret  societies  exist,  and  how  rich  and  powerful 
they  are.  Their  dear  friend,  the  good,  wise,  polite  marabout 
assures  them  that  rumours  of  that  sort  are  nonsense.  But  some 
day,  when  everything's  ready  —  when  Morocco  and  Oran 
and  Algeria  and  Tunisia  will  obey  the  signal,  all  together,  then 
they'll  have  a  surprise  —  and  Cassim  ben  Halim  will  be  re- 
venged." 

"It  sounds  like  the  weavings  of  a  brain  in  a  dream,"  Victoria 
said. 

"  It  will  be  a  nightmare-dream,  no  matter  how  it  ends ;  — 
maybe  a  nightmare  of  blood,  and  war,  and  massacre.     Haven't 
you  ever  heard,  or  read,  how  the  Mussulman  people  expect  a 
saviour,  the  Moul  Saa,  as  they  call  him  —  the  Man  of  the  Hour, 
who  will  preach  a  Holy  War.  and  lead  it  himself,  to  victory?'* 

"Yes,  I've  read  that " 


356  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Well,  Cassim  hopes  to  be  the  Moul  Saa,  and  deliver  Islam 
by  the  sword.  I  suppose  you  wonder  how  I  know  such  secrets, 
or  whether  I  do  really  know  them  at  all.  But  I  do.  Some 
things  Cassim  told  me  himself,  because  he  was  bursting  with 
vanity,  and  simply  had  to  speak.  Other  things  I've  seen  in 
writing  —  he  would  kill  me  if  he  found  out.  And  still  other 
things  I've  guessed.  Why,  the  boys  here  in  the  Zaou'ia  are 
being  brought  up  for  the  'great  work,'  as  they  call  it.  Not  all 
of  them  —  but  the  most  important  ones  among  the  older  boys. 
They  have  separate  classes.  Something  secret  and  mysterious 
is  taught  them.  There  are  boys  from  Morocco  and  Oran,  and 
sons  of  Touareg  chiefs  —  all  those  who  most  hate  Christians. 
No  other  zaoui'a  is  like  this.  The  place  seethes  with  hidden 
treachery  and  sedition.  Now  you  can  see  where  Si  Ma'ieddine's 
power  over  Cassim  comes  in.  The  Agha,  his  father,  is  one  of 
the  few  who  helped  make  Cassim  what  he  is,  but  he's  a  cautious 
old  man,  the  kind  who  wants  to  run  with  the  hare  and  hunt  with 
the  hounds.  Si  Maieddine's  cautious  too,  Cassim  has  said. 
He  approves  the  doctrines  of  the  secret  societies,  but  he's 
so  ambitious  that  without  a  very  strong  incentive  to  turn  against 
them,  in  act  he'd  be  true  to  the  French.  Well,  now  he  has  the 
incentive.  You." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Victoria.  Yet  even  as  she  spoke, 
she  began  to  understand. 

"He'll  offer  to  give  himself,  and  to  influence  the  Agha  and 
the  Agha's  people  —  the  Ouled-Sirren  —  if  Cassim  will  grant 
his  wish.  And  it's  no  use  saying  that  Cassim  can't  force  you 
to  marry  any  man.  You  told  me  yourself,  a  little  while  ago, 
that  if  you  saw  harm  coming  to  me " 

"Oh  don't — don't  speak  of  that  again,  Saidee!"  the  girl 
cried,  sharply.  "I've  told  you — yes — that  I'll  do  anything 
—  anything  on  earth  to  save  you  pain,  or  more  sorrow.  But 
let's  hope  —  let's  pray." 

"There  is  no  hope.  I've  forgotten  how  to  pray,"  Saidee 
answered,  "and  God  has  forgotten  me." 


XXXVIII 

THERE  was  no  place  for  a  guest  in  that  part  of  the 
marabout's     house     which    had    been    allotted    to 
Saidee.     She  had  her  bedroom  and  reception-room, 
her   roof  terrace,   and   her   garden  court.      On  the 
ground  floor  her  negresses  lived,  and  cooked  for  their  mistress 
and  themselves.     She  did  not  wish  to  have  Victoria  with  her, 
night  and  day,  and  so  she  had  quietly  directed  Noura  to  make 
up  a  bed  in  the  room  which  would  have  been  her  boudoir,  if 
she  had  lived  in  Europe.     When  the  sisters  came  down  from 
the  roof,  the  bed  was  ready. 

In  the  old  time  Victoria  had  slept  with  her  sister;  and  her 
greatest  happiness  as  a  child  had  been  the  "bed-talks,"  when 
Saidee  had  whispered  her  secret  joys  or  troubles,  and  confided 
in  the  little  girl  as  if  she  had  been  a  "  grown-up." 

Hardly  a  night  had  passed  since  their  parting,  that  Victoria 
had  not  thought  of  those  talks,  and  imagined  herself  again  lying 
with  her  head  on  Saidee's  arm,  listening  to  stories  of  Saidee's 
life.  She  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  she  would  be  put  in  her 
sister's  room,  and  seeing  the  bed  made  up,  and  her  luggage  un- 
packed in  the  room  adjoining,  was  a  blow.  She  knew  that 
Saidee  must  have  given  orders,  or  these  arrangements  would 
not  have  been  made,  and  again  she  felt  the  dreadful  sinking  of 
the  heart  which  had  crushed  her  an  hour  ago.  Saidee  did  not 
want  her.  Saidee  was  sorry  she  had  come,  and  meant  to  keep 
her  as  far  off  as  possible.  But  the  girl  encouraged  herself  once 
more.  Saidee  might  think  now  that  she  would  rather  have 
been  left  alone.  But  she  was  mistaken.  By  and  by  she  would 
find  out  the  truth,  and  know  that  they  needed  each  other. 

357 


358  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  more  comfortable  here,  than  crowded  in 
with  me,"  Saidee  explained,  blushing  faintly. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  dear,"  said  Victoria  quietly.  She  did  not 
show  her  disappointment,  and  seemed  to  take  the  matter  for 
granted,  as  if  she  had  expected  nothing  else;  but  the  talk  on  the 
roof  had  brought  back  something  into  Saidee's  heart  which  she 
could  not  keep  out,  though  she  did  not  wish  to  admit  it  there. 
She  was  sorry  for  Victoria,  sorry  for  herself,  and  more  miserable 
than  ever.  Her  nerves  were  rasped  by  an  intolerable  irritation 
as  she  looked  at  the  girl,  and  felt  that  her  thoughts  were  being 
read.  She  had  a  hideous  feeling,  almost  an  impression,  that 
her  face  had  been  lifted  off  like  a  mask,  and  that  the  workings  of 
her  brain  were  open  to  her  sister's  eyes,  like  the  exposed  mechan- 
ism of  a  clock. 

"Noura  has  brought  some  food  for  you,"  she  went  on  hastily. 
"You  must  eat  a  little,  before  you  go  to  bed  — to  please  me." 

"I  will,"  Victoria  assured  her.  "You  mustn't  worry  about 
me  at  all." 

"  You'll  go  to  sleep,  wont  you  ?  —  or  would  you  rather  talk  — 
while  you're  eating,  perhaps?" 

The  girl  looked  at  the  woman,  and  saw  that  her  nerves  were 
racked ;  that  she  wanted  to  go,  but  did  not  wish  her  sister  to  guess. 

"You've  talked  too  much  already,"  Victoria  said.  The 
surprise  of  my  coming  gave  you  a  shock.  Now  you  must 
rest  and  get  over  it,  so  you  can  be  strong  for  to-morrow.  Then 
we'll  make  up  our  minds  about  everything." 

"There's  only  one  way  to  make  up  our  minds,"  Saidee  in- 
sisted, dully. 

Victoria  did  not  protest.  She  kissed  her  sister  good-night, 
and  gently  refused  help  from  Noura.  Then  Saidee  went  away, 
followed  by  the  negress,  who  softly  closed  the  door  between  the 
two  rooms.  Her  mistress  had  not  told  her  to  do  this,  but  when 
it  was  done,  she  did  not  say,  "Open  the  door."  Saidee  was 
glad  that  it  was  shut,  because  she  felt  that  she  could  think  more 
freely.  She  could  not  bear  the  idea  that  her  thoughts  and  life 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  359 

were  open  to  the  criticism  of  those  young,  blue  eyes,  which  the 
years  since  childhood  had  not  clouded.  Nevertheless,  when 
Noura  had  undressed  her,  and  she  was  alone,  she  saw  Victoria's 
eyes  looking  at  her  sweetly,  sadly,  with  yearning,  yet  with  no 
reproach.  She  saw  them  as  clearly  as  she  had  seen  a  man's 
face,  a  few  hours  earlier;  and  now  his  was  dim,  as  Victoria's 
face  had  been  dim  when  his  was  clear. 

It  was  dark  in  the  room,  except  for  the  moon-rays  which 
streamed  through  the  lacelike  open-work  of  stucco,  above  the 
shuttered  windows,  making  jewelled  patterns  on  the  wall — 
pink,  green,  and  golden,  according  to  the  different  colours  of 
the  glass.  There  was  just  enough  light  to  reflect  these  patterns 
faintly  in  the  mirrors  set  in  the  closed  door,  opposite  which 
Saidee  lay  in  bed ;  and  to  her  imagination  it  was  as  if  she  could 
see  through  the  door,  into  a  lighted  place  beyond.  She  wonder- 
ed if  Victoria  had  gone  to  bed ;  if  she  were  sleeping,  or  if  she 
were  crying  softly  —  crying  her  heart  out  with  bitter  grief  and 
disappointment  she  would  never  confess. 

Victoria  had  always  been  like  that,  even  as  a  little  girl.  If 
Saidee  did  anything  to  hurt  her,  she  made  no  moan.  Some- 
times Saidee  had  teased  her  on  purpose,  or  tried  to  make  her 
jealous,  just  for  fun. 

As  memories  came  crowding  back,  the  woman  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  striving  with  all  her  might  to  shut  them  out.  What 
was  the  use  of  making  herself  wretched  ?  Victoria  ought  to 
have  come  long,  long  ago,  or  not  at  all. 

But  the  blue  eyes  would  look  at  her,  even  when  her  own  were 
shut;  and  always  there  was  the  faint  light  in  the  mirror,  which 
seemed  to  come  through  the  door. 

At  last  Saidee  could  not  longer  lie  still.  She  had  to  get  up 
and  open  the  door,  to  see  what  her  sister  was  really  doing. 
Very  softly  she  turned  the  handle,  for  she  hoped  that  by  this 
time  Victoria  was  asleep;  but  as  she  pulled  the  door  noiselessly 
towards  her,  and  peeped  into  the  next  room,  she  saw  that  one  of 
the  lamps  was  burning.  Victoria  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed. 


360  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

She  was  kneeling  beside  it,  saying  her  prayers,  with  her  back 
towards  the  door. 

So  absorbed  was  she  in  praying,  and  so  little  noise  had  Saidee 
made,  that  the  girl  heard  nothing.  She  remained  motionless 
on  her  knees,  not  knowing  that  Saidee  was  looking  at  her. 

A  sharp  pain  shot  through  the  woman's  heart.  How  many 
times  had  she  softly  opened  their  bedroom  door,  coming  home 
late  after  a  dance,  to  find  her  little  sister  praying,  a  small, 
childish  form  in  a  long  white  nightgown,  with  quantities  of 
curly  red  hair  pouring  over  its  shoulders! 

Sometimes  Victoria  had  gone  to  sleep  on  her  knees,  and 
Saidee  had  waked  her  up  with  a  kiss. 

Just  as  she  had  looked  then,  so  she  looked  now,  except  that 
the  form  in  the  long,  white  nightgown  was  that  of  a  young  girl, 
not  a  child.  But  the  thick  waves  of  falling  hair  made  it  seem 
childish. 

"She  is  praying  for  me,"  Saidee  thought;  and  dared  not 
close  the  door  tightly,  lest  Victoria  should  hear.  By  and  by 
it  could  be  done,  when  the  light  was  out,  and  the  girl 
dropped  asleep. 

Meanwhile,  she  tiptoed  back  to  her  bed,  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  it,  to  wait.  At  last  the  thread  of  light,  fine  as  a  red-gold  hair, 
vanished  from  the  door;  but  as  it  disappeared  a  line  of  moon- 
light was  drawn  in  silver  along  the  crack.  Victoria  must  have 
left  her  windows  wide  open,  or  there  would  not  have  been  light 
enough  to  paint  this  gleaming  streak. 

Saidee  sat  on  her  bed  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  trying  to 
concentrate  her  thoughts  on  the  present  and  future,  yet  unable 
to  keep  them  from  flying  back  to  the  past,  the  long-ago  past, 
which  lately  had  seemed  unreal,  as  if  she  had  dreamed  it;  the 
past  when  she  and  Victoria  had  been  all  the  world  to  each  other. 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  next  room,  and  when  Saidee  was 
weary  of  her  strained  position,  she  crossed  the  floor  on  tiptoe 
again,  to  shut  the  door.  But  she  could  not  resist  a  temptation 
to  peep  in. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  361 

It  was  as  she  had  expected.  Victoria  had  left  the  inlaid 
cedar- wood  shutters  wide  open,  and  through  the  lattice  of  old 
wrought-iron,  moonlight  streamed.  The  room  was  bright  with 
a  silvery  twilight,  like  a  mysterious  dawn;  but  because  the  bed- 
linen  and  the  embroidered  silk  coverlet  were  white,  the  pale 
radiance  focused  round  the  girl,  who  lay  asleep  in  a  halo  of 
moonbeams. 

"She  looks  like  an  angel,"  Saidee  thought,  and  with  a  curious 
mingling  of  reluctance  and  eagerness,  moved  softly  toward  the 
bed,  her  little  velvet  slippers  from  Tunis  making  no  sound  on 
the  thick  rugs. 

Very  well  the  older  woman  remembered  an  engaging  trick  of 
the  child's,  a  way  of  sleeping  with  her  cheek  in  her  hand,  and  her 
hair  spread  out  like  a  golden  coverlet  for  the  pillow.  Just  so 
she  was  lying  now;  and  in  the  moonlight  her  face  was  a  child's 
face,  the  face  of  the  dear,  little,  loving  child  of  ten  years  ago. 
Like  this  Victoria  had  lain  when  her  sister  crept  into  their  bed- 
room in  the  Paris  flat,  the  night  before  the  wedding,  arid  Saidee 
had  waked  her  by  crying  on  her  eyelids.  Cassim's  unhappy 
wife  recalled  the  clean,  sweet,  warm  smell  of  the  child's  hair 
when  she  had  buried  her  face  in  it  that  last  night  together. 
It  had  smelled  like  grape-leaves  in  the  hot  sun. 

"If  you  don't  come  back  to  me,  I'll  follow  you  all  across  the 
world,"  the  little  girl  had  said.  Now,  she  had  kept  her  promise. 
Here  she  was  —  and  the  sister  to  whom  she  had  come,  after  a 
thousand  sacrifices,  was  wishing  her  back  again  at  the  other 
end  of  the  world,  was  planning  to  get  rid  of  her. 

Suddenly,  it  was  as  if  the  beating  of  Saidee's  heart  broke  a 
tight  band  of  ice  which  had  compressed  it.  A  fountain  of  tears 
sprang  from  her  eyes.  She  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed, 
crying  bitterly. 

"Childie,  childie,  comfort  me,  forgive  me!"  she  sobbed. 

Victoria  woke  instantly.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and  Saidee's 
wet  face  was  close  to  hers.  The  girl  said  not  a  word,  but 
wrapped  her  arms  round  her  sister,  drawing  the  bowed  head 


362  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

on  to  her  breast,  and  then  she  crooned  lovingly  over  it,  with 
little  foolish  mumblings,  as  she  used  to  do  in  Paris  when  Mrs. 
Ray's  unkindness  had  made  Saidee  cry. 

"Can  you  forgive  me?"  the  woman  faltered,  between  sobs. 

"Darling,  as  if  there  were  anything  to  forgive!"  The  clasp 
of  the  girl's  arms  tightened.  "Now  we're  truly  together  again. 
How  I  love  you!  How  happy  I  am!" 

"Don't — I  don't  deserve  it,"  Saidee  stammered.  "Poor 
little  Babe!  I  was  cruel  to  you.  And  you'd  come  so  far." 

"You  weren't  cruel!"  Victoria  contradicted  her,  almost 
fiercely. 

"I  was.  I  was  jealous  —  jealous  of  you.  You're  so  young 
and  beautiful  —  just  what  I  was  ten  years  ago,  only  better 
and  prettier.  You're  what  I  can  never  be  again  —  what  I'd 
give  the  next  ten  years  to  be.  Everything's  over  with  me. 
I'm  old— old!" 

"You're  not  to  say  such  things,"  cried  Victoria,  horrified. 
"You  weren't  jealous.  You ' 

"I  was.  I  am  now.  But  I  want  to  confess.  You  must  let 
me  confess,  if  you're  to  help  me." 

"Dearest,  tell  me  anything — everything  you  choose,  but 
nothing  you  don't  choose.  And  nothing  you  say  can  make  me 
love  you  less  —  only  more." 

"There's  a  great  deal  to  tell,"  Saidee  said,  heavily  "And 
I'm  tired  —  sick  at  heart.  But  I  can't  rest  now,  till  I've  told 
you." 

"Wouldn't  you  come  into  bed?"  pleaded  Victoria  humbly. 
"Then  we  could  talk,  the  way  we  used  to  talk." 

Saidee  staggered  up  from  her  knees,  and  the  girl  almost 
lifted  her  on  to  the  bed.  Then  she  covered  her  with  the  thyme- 
scented  linen  sheet,  and  the  silk  coverlet  under  which  she  herself 
lay.  For  a  moment  they  were  quite  still,  Saidee  lying  with  her 
head  on  Victoria's  arm.  But  at  last  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  as 
if  her  lips  were  dry:  "Did  you  know  I  was  sorry  you'd  come  ?" 

"I  knew  you  thought  you  were  sorry,"  the  girl  answered. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  363 

"Yet  I  hoped  that  you'd  find  out  you  weren't,  really.  I  prayed 
for  you  to  find  out  —  soon." 

"Did  you  guess  why  I  was  sorry?" 

"Not  — quite." 

"I  told  you  I  —  that  it  was  for  your  sake." 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  you  believe  it?" 

"I  — felt  there  was  something  else,  beside." 

"There  was!"  Saidee  confessed.  "You  know  now — at 
least  you  know  part.  I  was  jealous.  I  am  still  —  but  I'm 
ashamed  of  myself.  I'm  sick  with  shame.  And  I  do  love 
you!" 

"Of  course  — of  course  you  do,  darling." 

"But — there's  somebody  else  I  love.  A  man.  And  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  he  might  see  you,  because  you're  so 
much  younger  and  fresher  than  I." 

"You  mean  —  Cassim ?" 

"No.     Not  Cassim." 

Silence  fell  between  the  two.  Victoria  did  not  speak;  and 
suddenly  Saidee  was  angry  with  her  for  not  speaking. 

"If  you're  shocked,  I  won't  go  on,"  she  said.  "You  can't 
help  me  by  preaching." 

"I'm  not  shocked,"  the  girl  protested.  "Only  sorry  —  so 
sorry.  And  even  if  I  wanted  to  preach,  I  don't  know  how." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  shocked  about,"  Saidee  said,  her 
tears  dry,  her  voice  hard  as  it  had  been  at  first.  "I've  seen 
him  three  times.  I've  talked  with  him  just  once.  But  we  love 
each  other.  It's  the  first  and  only  real  love  of  my  life.  I 
was  too  young  to  know,  when  I  met  Cassim.  That  was  a 
fascination.  I  was  in  love  with  romance.  He  carried  me 
off  my  feet,  in  spite  of  myself." 

"Then,  dearest  Saidee,  don't  let  yourself  be  carried  off  your 
feet  a  second  time." 

"Why  not?"  Saidee  asked,  sharply.  "What  incentive  have 
I  to  be  true  to  Cassim  ?" 


364  THE   GOLDEN 'SILENCE 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  Cassim.  I'm  thinking  of  you.  All 
one's  world  goes  to  pieces  so,  if  one  isn't  true  to  oneself." 

" He  says  I  can't  be  true  to  myself  if  I  stay  here.  He  doesn't 
consider  that  I'm  Cassim's  wife.  I  thought  myself  married, 
but  was  I,  when  he  had  a  wife  already  ?  Would  any  lawyer,  or 
even  clergyman,  say  it  was  a  legal  marriage  ?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  Victoria  admitted.     "But  - 

"Just  wait,  before  you  go  on  arguing,"  Saidee  broke  in  hotly, 
"until  I've  told  you  something  you  haven't  heard  yet.  Cassim 
has  another  wife  now  —  a  lawful  wife,  according  to  his  views, 
and  the  views  of  his  people.  He's  had  her  for  a  year.  She's 
a  girl  of  the  Ouled  Nail  tribe,  brought  up  to  be  a  dancer.  But 
Cassim  saw  her  at  Touggourt,  where  he'd  gone  on  one  of  his 
mysterious  visits.  He  doesn't  dream  that  I  know  the  whole 
history  of  the  affair,  but  I  do,  and  have  known,  since  a  few  days 
after  the  creature  was  brought  here  as  his  bride.  She's  as  ignor- 
ant and  silly  as  a  kitten,  and  only  a  child  in  years.  She  told  her 
'love  story'  to  one  of  her  negresses,  who  told  Noura — who 
repeated  it  to  me.  Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  listened,  but 
why  not?" 

Victoria  did  not  answer.  The  clouds  round  Saidee  and  her- 
self were  dark,  but  she  was  trying  to  see  the  blue  beyond,  and 
find  the  way  into  it,  with  her  sister. 

"She's  barely  sixteen  now,  and  she's  been  here  a  year," 
Saidee  went  on.  "She  hadn't  begun  to  dance  yet,  when 
Cassim  saw  her,  and  took  her  away  from  Touggourt.  Being 
a  great  saint  is  very  convenient.  A  marabout  can  do  what  he 
likes,  you  know.  Mussulmans  are  forbidden  to  touch  alcohol, 
but  if  a  marabout  drinks  wine,  it  turns  to  milk  in  his  throat. 
He  can  fly,  if  he  wants  to.  He  can  even  make  French  cannon 
useless,  and  withdraw  the  bullets  from  French  guns,  in  case  of 
war,  if  the  spirit  of  Allah  is  with  him.  So  by  marrying  a  girl 
brought  up  for  a  dancer,  daughter  of  generations  of  dancing 
women,  he  washes  all  disgrace  from  her  blood,  and  makes  her  a 
female  saint,  worthy  to  live  eternally.  The  beautiful  Miluda's 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  365 

a  marabouta,  if  you  please,  and  when  her  baby  is  taken  out  by 
the  negress  who  nurses  it,  silly,  bigoted  people  kneel  and  kiss 
its  clothing." 

"She  has  a  baby!"  murmured  Victoria. 

"Yes,  only  a  girl,  but  better  than  nothing  — and  she  hopes 
to  be  more  fortunate  next  time.  She  isn't  jealous  of  me,  because 
I've  no  children,  not  even  a  girl,  and  because  for  that  reason 
Cassim  could  repudiate  me  if  he  chose.  She  little  knows  how 
desperately  I  wish  he  would.  She  believes  —  Noura  says  — 
that  he  keeps  me  here  only  because  I  have  no  people  to  go  to, 
and  he's  too  kind-hearted  to  turn  me  out  alone  in  the  world, 
when  my  youth's  past.  You  see  —  she  thinks  me  already  old  — 
at  twenty-eight!  Of  course  the  real  reason  that  Cassim  shuts 
me  up  and  won't  let  me  go,  is  because  he  knows  I  could  ruin 
not  only  him,  but  the  hopes  of  his  people.  Miluda  doesn't 
dream  that  I'm  of  so  much  importance  in  his  eyes.  The  only 
thing  she's  jealous  of  is  the  boy,  Mohammed,  who's  at  school 
in  the  town  of  Oued  Tolga,  in  charge  of  an  uncle.  Cassim 
guesses  how  Miluda  hates  the  child,  and  I  believe  that's  the 
reason  he  daren't  have  him  here.  He's  afraid  something  might 
happen,  although  the  excuse  he  makes  is,  that  he  wants  his  boy 
to  learn  French,  and  know  something  of  French  ways.  That 
pleases  the  Government  —  and  as  for  the  Arabs,  no  doubt  he 
tells  them  it's  only  a  trick  to  keep  French  eyes  shut  to  what's 
really  going  on,  and  to  his  secret  plans.  Now,  do  you  still  say 
I  ought  to  consider  myself  married  to  Cassim,  and  refuse  to 
take  any  happiness  if  I  can  get  it  ?" 

"The  thing  is,  what  would  make  you  happy?"  Victoria 
said,  as  if  thinking  aloud. 

"Love,  and  life.  All  that  women  in  Europe  have,  and  take 
for  granted,"  Saidee  answered  passionately. 

"How  could  it  come  to  you  ?"  the  girl  asked. 

"I  would"  go  to  it,  and  find  it  with  the  man  who's  ready 
to  risk  his  life  to  save  me  from  this  hateful  prison,  and  carry 
me  far  away.  Now,  I've  told  you  everything,  exactly  as  it 


366  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

stands.  That's  why  I  was  sorry  you  came,  just  when  I  was 
almost  ready  to  risk  the  step.  I  was  sure  you'd  be  horrified 
if  you  found  out,  and  want  to  stop  me.  Besides,  if  he  should 
see  you  —  but  I  won't  say  that  again.  I  know  you  wouldn't 
try  to  take  him  away  from  me,  even  if  you  tried  to  take  me 
from  him.  I  don't  know  why  I've  told  you,  instead  of  keep- 
ing the  whole  thing  secret  as  I  made  up  my  mind  to  do  at  first. 
Nothing's  changed.  I  can't  save  you  from  Mai'eddine,  but  — 
there's  one  difference.  I  would  save  you  if  I  could.  Just 
at  first,  I  was  so  anxious  for  you  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  my 
happiness  —  the  chance  of  it  —  that  the  only  thing  I  longed  for 
was  that  you  should  be  gone." 

Victoria  choked  back  a  sob  that  rose  in  her  throat,  but  Saidee 
felt,  rather  than  heard  it,  as  she  lay  with  her  burning  head  on 
the  girl's  arm. 

"I  don't  feel  like  that  now,"  she  said.  "I  peeped  in  and  saw 
you  praying  —  perhaps  for  me  —  and  you  looked  just  as  you 
used,  when  you  were  a  little  girl.  Then,  when  I  came  in,  and 
you  were  asleep,  I  —  I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  broke  down.  I 
love  you,  dear  little  Babe.  The  ice  is  gone  out  of  my  heart. 
You've  melted  it.  I'm  a  woman  again;  but  just  because  I'm 
a  woman,  I  won't  give  up  my  other  love  to  please  you  or  any 
one.  I  tell  you  that,  honestly." 

Victoria  made  no  reply  for  a  moment,  though  Saidee  waited 
defiantly,  expecting  a  protest  or  an  argument.  Then,  at  last, 
the  girl  said:  "Will  you  tell  me  something  about  this  man?" 

Saidee  was  surprised  to  receive  encouragement.  It  was  a 
joy  to  speak  of  the  subject  that  occupied  all  her  thoughts,  and 
wonderful  to  have  a  confidante. 

"He's  a  captain  in  the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique,"  she  said. 
"But  he's  not  with  his  regiment.  He's  an  expert  in  making 
desert  wells,  and  draining  marshes.  That's  the  business  which 
has  brought  him  to  the  far  South,  now.  He's  living  at  Oued 
Tolga  — the  town,  I  mean;  not  the  Zaouia.  A  well  had  to  be 
sunk  in  the  village,  and  he  was  superintending.  I  watched 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  367 

him  from  my  roof,  though  it  was  too  far  off  to  see  his  face.  I 
don't  know  exactly  what  made  me  do  it  —  I  suppose  it  was 
Fate,  for  Cassim  says  we  all  have  our  fate  hung  round  our  necks 
—  but  when  I  went  to  the  Moorish  bath,  between  here  and  the 
village,  I  let  my  veil  blow  away  from  my  face  as  I  passed  close  \ 
to  him  and  his  party  of  workers.  No  one  else  saw,  except  he. 
It  was  only  for  a  second  or  two,  but  we  looked  straight  into  each 
other's  eyes;  and  there  was  something  in  his  that  seemed  to  draw 
my  soul  out  of  me.  It  was  as  if,  in  that  instant,  I  told  him  with 
a  look  the  whole  tragedy  of  my  life.  And  his  soul  sprang  to 
mine.  There  was  never  anything  like  it.  You  can't  imagine 
what  I  felt,  Babe." 

"Yes.  I — think  \ I  can,"  Victoria  whispered,  but  Saidee 
hardly  heard,  so  deeply  was  she  absorbed  in  the  one  sweet 
memory  of  many  years. 

"It  was  in  the  morning,"  the  elder  woman  went  on,  "but  it 
was  hot,  and  the  sun  was  fierce  as  it  beat  down  on  the  sand. 
He  had  been  working,  and  his  face  was  pale  from  the  heat. 
It  had  a  haggard  look  under  brown  sunburn.  But  when 
our  eyes  met,  a  flush  like  a  girl's  rushed  up  to  his  forehead. 
You  never  saw  such  a  light  in  human  eyes!  They  were  illum- 
inated as  if  a  fire  from  his  heart  was  lit  behind  them.  I  knew 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  me  — that  something  would  happen: 
that  my  life  would  never  be  the  same  again. 

"The  next  time  I  went  to  the  bath,  he  was  there;  and  though 
I  held  my  veil,  he  looked  at  me  with  the  same  wonderful  look, 
as  if  he  could  see  through  it.  I  felt  that  he  longed  to  speak, 
but  of  course  he  could  not.  It  would  have  meant  my  ruin. 

"In  the  baths,  there's  an  old  woman  named  Bakta — an 
attendant.  She  always  comes  to  me  when  I  go  there.  She's 
a  great  character  —  knows  everything  that  happens  in  every 
house,  as  if  by  magic;  and  loves  to  talk.  But  she  can  keep 
secrets.  She  is  a  match-maker  for  all  the  neighbourhood.  When 
there's  a  young  man  of  Oued  Tolga,  or  of  any  village  round 
about,  who  wants  a  wife,  she  lets  him  know  which  girl  who 


368  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

comes  to  the  baths  is  the  youngest  and  most  beautiful.  Or 
if  a  wife  is  in  love  with  some  one,  Bakta  contrives  to  bring  letters 
from  him,  and  smuggle  them  to  the  young  woman  while  she's  at 
the  Moorish  bath.  Well,  that  day  she  gave  me  a  letter  —  a 
beautiful  letter. 

"I  didn't  answer  it;  but  next  time  I  passed,  I  opened  my 
veil  and  smiled  to  show  that  I  thanked  him.  Because  he  had 
laid  his  life  at  my  feet.  If  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for 
me,  he  would  do  it,  without  hope  of  reward,  even  if  it  meant 
death.  Then  Bakta  gave  me  another  letter.  I  couldn't  resist 
answering,  and  so  it's  gone  on,  until  I  seem  to  know  this  man, 
Honore  Sabine,  better  than  any  one  in  the  world;  though  we've 
only  spoken  together  once." 

"How  did  you  manage  it?"  Victoria  asked  the  question 
mechanically,  for  she  felt  that  Saidee  expected  it  of  her. 

"Bakta  managed,  and  Noura  helped.  He  came  dressed  like 
an  Arab  woman,  and  pretended  to  be  old  and  lame,  so  that  he 
could  crouch  down  and  use  a  stick  as  he  walked,  to  disguise  his 
height.  Bakta  waited  —  and  we  had  no  more  than  ten  minutes 
to  say  everything.  Ten  hours  wouldn't  have  been  enough!  — 
but  we  were  in  danger  every  instant,  and  he  was  afraid  of 
what  might  happen  to  me,  if  we  were  spied  upon.  He  begged  me 
to  go  with  him  then,  but  I  dared  not.  I  couldn't  decide.  Now 
he  writes  to  me,  and  he's  making  a  cypher,  so  that  if  the  letters 
should  be  intercepted,  no  one  could  read  them.  Then  he  hopes 
to  arrange  a  way  of  escape  if  —  if  I  say  I'll  do  what  he  asks." 

"Which,  of  course,  you  won't,"  broke  in  Victoria.  "You 
couldn't,  even  though  it  were  only  for  his  sake  alone,  if  you 
really  love  him.  You'd  be  too  unhappy  afterwards,  knowing 
that  you'd  ruined  his  career  in  the  army." 

"I'm  more  to  him  than  a  thousand  careers!"  Saidee  flung 
herself  away  from  the  girl's  arm.  "I  see  now,"  she  went  on 
angrily,  "what  you  were  leading  up  to,  when  you  pretended  to 
sympathize.  You  were  waiting  for  a  chance  to  try  and  per- 
suade me  that  I'm  a  selfish  wretch.  I  may  be  selfish,  but  — 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  369 

it's  as  much  for  his  happiness  as  mine.  It's  just  as  I  thought 
it  would  be.  You're  puritanical.  You'd  rather  see  me  die,  or 
go  mad  in  this  prison,  than  have  me  do  a  thing  that's  uncon- 
ventional, according  to  your  schoolgirl  ideas." 

"I  came  to  take  you  out  of  prison,"  said  Victoria. 

"And  you  fell  into  it  yourself!"  Saidee  retorted  quickly. 
"You  broke  the  spring  of  the  door,  and  it  will  be  harder  than 
ever  to  open.  But" — her  voice  changed  from  reproach  to 
persuasion — "Honore  might  save  us  both.  If  only  you 
wouldn't  try  to  stop  my  going  with  him,  you  might  go  too. 
Then  you  wouldn't  have  to  marry  Maieddine.  There's  a 
chance  —  just  a  chance.  For  heaven's  sake  do  all  you  can  to 
help,  not  to  hinder.  Don't  you  see,  now  that  you're  here,  there 
are  a  hundred  more  reasons  why  I  must  say  'yes'  to  Captain 
Sabine?" 

"If  I  did  see  that,  I'd  want  to  die  now,  this  minute,"  Victoria 
answered. 

"How  cruel  you  are!  How  cruel  a  girl  can  be  to  a  woman. 
You  pretend  that  you  came  to  help  me,  and  the  one  only  thing 
you  can  do,  you  refuse  to  do.  You  say  you  want  to  get  me  away. 
I  tell  you  that  you  can't — and  you  can't  get  yourself  away.  Per- 
haps Honore  can  do  what  you  can't,  but  you'll  try  to  prevent  him." 

"If  I  could  get  you  away,  would  you  give  him  up — until 
you  were  free  to  go  to  him  without  spoiling  both  your  lives  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Saidee  asked. 

"Please  answer  my  question." 

Saidee  thought  for  a  moment.  "Yes.  'I  would  do  that. 
But  what's  the  use  of  talking  about  it?  You!  A  poor  little 
mouse  caught  in  a  trap!" 

"A  mouse  once  gnawed  a  net,  and  set  free  a  whole  lion," 
said  Victoria.  "Give  me  a  chance  to  think,  that's  all  I  ask, 
except  —  except  —  that  you  love  me  meanwhile.  Oh,  darling, 
don't  be  angry,  will  you  ?  I  can't  bear  it,  if  you  are." 

Saidee  laid  her  head  on  the  girl's  arm  once  more,  and  they 
kissed  each  other. 


XXXIX 

MAIEDDINE  did  not  try  to  see  Victoria,  or  send 
her  any  message. 
In  spite  of  M'Barka's  vision  in  the   sand,  and 
his  own  superstition,  he  was  sure  now  that  nothing 
could  come  between  him  and  his  wish.     The  girl  was  safe  in  the 
marabout's  house,  to  which  he  had  brought  her,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  get  away  without  his  help,  even  if  she  were 
willing  to  go,  and  leave  the  sister  whom  she  had  come  so  far  to 
find.     Mai'eddine  knew  what  he  could  offer  the  marabout,  and 
knew  that  the  marabout  would  willingly  pay  even  a  higher  price 
than  he  meant  to  ask. 

He  lived  in  the  guest-house,  and  had  news  sometimes  from 
his  cousin  Leila  M'Barka  in  her  distant  quarters.  She  was 
tired,  but  not  ill,  and  the  two  sisters  were  very  kind 
to  her. 

So  three  days  passed,  and  the  doves  circled  and  moaned 
round  the  minaret  of  the  Zaouia  mosque,  and  were  fed  at  sun- 
set on  the  white  roof,  by  hands  hidden  from  all  eyes  save  eyes 
of  birds. 

On  the  third  day  there  was  great  excitement  at  Oued  Tolga. 
The  marabout,  Sidi  El  Hadj  Mohammed  ben  Abd  el  Kadr, 
came  home,  and  was  met  on  the  way  by  many  people  from 
the  town  and  the  Zaouia. 

His  procession  was  watched  by  women  on  many  roofs  — 
with  reverent  interest  by  some;  with  joy  by  one  woman  who  was 
his  wife;  with  fear  and  despair  by  another,  who  had  counted 
on  his  absence  for  a  few  days  longer.  And  Victoria  stood 
beside  her  sister,  looking  out  over  the  golden  silence  towards 

370 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  371 

the  desert  city  of  Oued  Tolga,  with  a  pair  of  modern  field- 
glasses  sent  to  her  by  Si  Mai'eddine. 

Maieddine  himself  went  out  to  meet  the  marabout,  riding 
El  Biod,  and  conscious  of  unseen  eyes  that  must  be  upon  him. 
He  was  a  notable  figure  among  the  hundreds  which  poured 
out  of  town,  and  villages,  and  Zaoui'a,  in  honour  of  the  great 
man's  return;  the  noblest  of  all  the  desert  men  in  floating  white 
burnouses,  who  rode  or  walked,  with  the  sun  turning  their 
dark  faces  to  bronze,  their  eyes  to  gleaming  jewels.  But  even 
Maieddine  himself  became  insignificant  as  the  procession  from 
the  Zaoui'a  was  joined  by  that  from  the  city,  — the  glittering 
line  in  the  midst  of  which  Sidi  El  Hadj  Mohammed  sat  high 
on  the  back  of  a  grey  mehari. 

From  very  far  off  Victoria  saw  the  meeting,  looking  through 
the  glasses  sent  by  Mai'eddine,  those  which  he  had  given  her 
once  before,  bidding  her  see  how  the  distant  dunes  leaped 
forward. 

Then  as  she  watched,  and  the  procession  came  nearer, 
rising  and  falling  among  the  golden  sand-billows,  she  could 
plainly  make  out  the  majestic  form  of  the  marabout.  The  sun 
blazed  on  the  silver  cross  of  his  saddle,  and  the  spear-heads  of  the 
banners  which  waved  around  him;  but  he  was  dressed  with 
severe  simplicity,  in  a  mantle  of  green  silk,  with  the  green 
turban  to  which  he  had  earned  the  right  by  visiting  Mecca. 
The  long  white  veil  of  many  folds,  which  can  be  worn  only  by 
a  descendant  of  the  Prophet,  flowed  over  the  green  cloak;  and 
the  face  below  the  eyes  was  hidden  completely  by  a  mask  of  thin 
black  woollen  stuff,  such  as  has  been  named  "  nun's  veiling  " 
in  Europe.  He  was  tall,  and  no  longer  slender,  as  Victoria 
remembered  Cassim  ben  Halim  to  have  been  ten  years  ago;  but 
all  the  more  because  of  his  increasing  bulk,  was  his  bearing 
majestic  as  he  rode  on  the  grey  mehari, towering  above  the  crowd. 
Even  the  Agha,  Si  Maiieddine's  father,  had  less  dignity  than  that 
of  this  great  saint  of  the  southern  desert,  returning  like  a  king 
to  his  people,  after  carrying  through  a  triumphant  mission. 


372  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"If  only  he  had  been  a  few  days  later!"  Saidee  thought. 

And  Victoria  felt  an  oppressive  sense  of  the  man's  power, 
wrapping  round  her  and  her  sister  like  a  heavy  doak.  But  she 
looked  above  and  beyond  him,  into  the  gold,  and  with  all  the 
strength  of  her  spirit  she  sent  out  a  call  to  Stephen  Knight. 

"I  love  you.  Come  to  me.  Save  my  sister  and  me.  God, 
send  him  to  us.  He  said  he  would  come,  no  matter  how  far. 
Now  is  the  time.  Let  him  come." 

The  silence  of  the  golden  sea  was  broken  by  cries  of  welcome 
to  the  marabout,  praises  of  Allah  and  the  Prophet  who  had 
brought  him  safely  back,  shouts  of  men,  and  wailing  "you- 
yous"  of  women,  shrill  voices  of  children,  and  neighing  of  horses. 

Up  the  side  of  the  ZaouTa  hill,  lame  beggars  crawled  out  of 
the  river  bed,  each  hurrying  to  pass  the  others — hideous  deform- 
ities, legless,  noseless,  humpbacked,  twisted  into  strange  shapes 
like  brown  pots  rejected  by  the  potter,  groaning,  whining,  eager 
for  the  marabout's  blessing,  a  supper,  and  a  few  coins.  Those 
who  could  afford  a  copper  or  two  were  carried  through  the 
shallow  water  on  the  backs  of  half-naked,  sweating  Negroes 
from  the  village;  but  those  who  had  nothing  except  their  faith 
to  support  them,  hobbled  or  crept  over  the  stones,  wetting  their 
scanty  rags;  laughed  at  by  black  and  brown  children  who  feared 
to  follow,  because  of  the  djinn  who  lived  in  a  cave  of  evil  yellow 
stones,  guarding  a  hidden  spring  which  gushed  into  the  river. 

On  Miluda's  roof  there  was  music,  which  could  be  heard 
from  another  roof,  nearer  the  minaret  where  the  doves  wheeled 
and  moaned;  and  perhaps  the  marabout  himself  could  hear  it, 
as  he  approached  the  Zaouia;  but  though  it  called  him  with  a 
song  of  love  and  welcome,  he  did  not  answer  the  call  at  once. 
First  he  took  Maieddine  into  his  private  reception  room,  where 
he  received  only  the  guests  whom  he  most  delighted  to  honour. 

There,  though  the  ceiling  and  walls  were  decorated  in  Arab 
fashion,  with  the  words,  El  Afia  el  Bakia,  "eternal  health," 
inscribed  in  lettering  of  gold  and  red,  opposite  the  door,  all  the 
furniture  was  French,  gilded,  and  covered  with  brocade  of 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  37$ 

scarlet  and  gold.  The  curtains  draped  over  the  inlaid  cedar- 
wood  shutters  of  the  windows  were  of  the  same  brocade,  and 
the  beautiful  old  rugs  from  Turkey  and  Persia  could  not  soften 
its  crudeness.  The  larger  reception  room  from  which  this 
opened  had  still  more  violent  decorations,  for  there  the  scarlet 
mingled  with  vivid  blue,  and  there  were  curiosities  enough  to 
stock  a  museum  —  presents  sent  to  the  marabout  from  friends 
and  admirers  all  over  the  world.  There  were  first  editions  of 
rare  books,  illuminated  missals,  dinner  services  of  silver  and 
gold,  Dresden  and  Sevres,  and  even  Royal  Worcester;  splendid 
crystal  cases  of  spoons  and  jewellery;  watches  old  and  new; 
weapons  of  many  countries,  and  an  astonishing  array  of  clocks, 
all  ticking,  and  pointing  to  different  hours.  But  the  inner 
room,  which  only  the  intimate  friends  of  Sidi  Mohammed  ever 
saw,  was  littered  with  no  such  incongruous  collection.  On 
the  walls  were  a  few  fine  pictures  by  well-known  French  artists 
of  the  most  modern  school,  mostly  representing  nude  women; 
for  though  the  Prophet  forbade  the  fashioning  of  graven  images, 
he  made  no  mention  of  painting.  There  were  comfortable 
divans,  and  little  tables,  on  which  were  displayed  boxes  of  cigars 
and  cigarettes,  and  egg-shell  coffee-cups  in  filigree  gold  stan- 
dards. 

In  this  room,  behind  shut  doors,  Mai'eddine  told  his  errand, 
not  forgetting  to  enumerate  in  detail  the  great  things  he  could 
do  for  the  Cause,  if  his  wish  were  granted.  He  did  not  speak 
much  of  Victoria,  or  his  love  for  her,  but  he  knew  that  the 
marabout  must  reckon  her  beauty  by  the  price  he  was  prepared 
to  pay;  and  he  gave  the  saint  little  time  to  picture  her  fas- 
cinations. Nor  did  Sidi  Mohammed  talk  of  the  girl,  or  of  her 
relationship  to  one  placed  near  him;  and  his  face  (which  he 
unmasked  with  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  and  his  friend  were 
alone)  did  not  change  as  he  listened,  or  asked  questions  about 
the  services  Maieddine  would  render  the  Cause.  At  first  he 
seemed  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  keeping  such  promises, 
some  of  which  depended  upon  the  Agha;  but  Maieddine's 


374  THE. GOLDEN  SILENCE 

enthusiasm  inspired  him  with  increasing  confidence.  He 
spoke  freely  of  the  great  work  that  was  being  done  by  the  im- 
portant societies  of  which  he  was  the  head;  of  what  he  had 
accomplished  in  Oran,  and  had  still  to  accomplish;  of  the 
arms  and  ammunition  smuggled  into  the  Zaouia  and  many  other 
places,  from  France  and  Morocco,  brought  by  the  "silent 
camels  "  in  rolls  of  carpets  and  boxes  of  dates.  But,  he  added, 
this  was  only  a  beginning.  Years  must  pass  before  all  was 
ready,  and  many  more  men,  working  heart  and  soul,  night 
and  day,  were  needed.  If  Maieddine  could  help,  well  and 
good.  But  would  the  Agha  yield  to  his  influence  ? 

"Not  the  Agha,"  Maieddine  answered,  "but  the  Agha's 
people.  They  are  my  people,  too,  and  they  look  to  me  as 
their  future  head.  My  father  is  old.  There  is  nothing  I  can- 
not make  the  Ouled-Sirren  do,  nowhere  I  cannot  bid  them  go, 
if  I  lead." 

"And  wilt  thou  lead  in  the  right  way?  If  I  give  thee  thy 
desire,  wilt  thou  not  forget,  when  it  is  already  thine?"  the 
marabout  asked.  "When  a  man  wears  a  jewel  on  his  finger, 
it  does  not  always  glitter  so  brightly  as  when  he  saw  and  coveted 
it  first." 

"Not  always.  But  in  each  man's  life  there  is  one  jewel, 
supreme  above  others,  to  possess  which  he  eats  the  heart,  and 
which,  when  it  is  his,  becomes  the  star  of  his  life,  to  be  wor- 
shipped forever.  Once  he  has  seen  the  jewel,  the  man  knows 
that  there  is  nothing  more  glorious  for  him  this  side  heaven; 
that  it  is  for  him  the  All  of  joy,  though  to  others,  perhaps,  it 
might  not  seem  as  bright.  And  there  is  nothing  he  would  not 
do  to  have  and  to  keep  it." 

The  marabout  looked  intently  at  Maieddine,  searching  his 
mind  to  the  depths;  and  the  face  of  each  man  was  lit  by  an 
inner  flame,  which  gave  nobility  to  his  expression.  Each  was 
passionately  sincere  in  his  way,  though  the  way  of  one  was  not 
the  way  of  the  other. 

In  his  love  Maieddine  was  true,  according  to  the   light  his 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  375 

religion  and  the  unchanging  customs  of  his  race  had  given 
him.  He  intended  no  wrong  to  Victoria,  and  as  he  was  sure 
that  his  love  was  an  honour  for  her,  he  saw  no  shame  in  taking 
her  against  what  she  mistakenly  believed  to  be  her  wish.  Her 
confession  of  love  for  another  man  had  shocked  him  at  first, 
but  now  he  had  come  to  feel  that  it  had  been  but  a  stroke  of 
diplomacy  on  her  part,  and  he  valued  her  more  than  ever  for 
her  subtlety.  Though  he  realized  dimly  that  with  years  his 
passion  for  her  might  cool,  it  burned  so  hotly  now  that  the 
world  was  only  a  frame  for  the  picture  of  her  beauty.  And  he 
was  sure  that  never  in  time  to  come  could  he  forget  the  thrill 
of  this  great  passion,  or  grudge  the  price  he  now  offered  and 
meant  to  pay. 

Cassim  ben  Halim  had  begun  his  crusade  under  the  name 
and  banner  of  the  marabout,  in  the  fierce  hope  of  revenge 
against  the  power  which  broke  him,  and  with  an  entirely  selfish 
wish  for  personal  aggrandizement.  But  as  the  years  went  on, 
he  had  converted  himself  to  the  fanaticism  he  professed.  Sidi 
El  Had]  Mohammed  ben  Abd  el  Kadr  had  created  an  ideal 
and  was  true  to  it.  Still  a  selfish  sensualist  on  one  side  of  his 
nature,  there  was  another  side  capable  of  high  courage  and 
self-sacrifice  for  the  one  cause  which  now  seemed  worth  a 
sacrifice.  To  the  triumph  of  Islam  over  usurpers  he  was  ready 
to  devote  his  life,  or  give  his  life;  but  having  no  mercy  upon  him- 
self if  it  came  to  a  question  between  self  and  the  Cause,  he  had 
still  less  mercy  upon  others,  with  one  exception ;  his  son.  Uncon- 
sciously, he  put  the  little  boy  above  all  things,  all  aims,  all 
people.  But  as  for  Saidee's  sister,  the  child  he  remembered, 
who  had  been  foolish  enough  and  irritating  enough  to  find  her 
way  to  Ov  A  Tolga,  he  felt  towards  her,  in  listening  to  the  story 
of  her  coming,  as  an  ardent  student  might  feel  towards  a  per- 
sistent midge  which  disturbed  his  studies.  If  the  girl  could  be 
used  as  a  pawn  in  his  great  game,  she  had  a  certain  importance, 
otherwise  none  —  except  that  her  midge-like  buzzings  must  not 
annoy  him,  or  reach  ears  at  a  distance. 


376  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Both  men  were  naturally  schemers,  and  loved  scheming  for 
its  own  sake,  but  never  had  either  pitted  his  wits  against  the 
other  with  less  intention  of  hiding  his  real  mind.  Each  was 
in  earnest,  utterly  sincere,  therefore  not  ignoble;  and  the  bar- 
gain was  struck  between  the  two  with  no  deliberate  villainy  on 
either  side.  The  marabout  promised  his  wife's  sister  to 
Maieddine  -with  as  little  hesitation  as  a  patriarch  of  Israel, 
three  thousand  years  ago,  would  have  promised  a  lamb  for  the 
sacrificial  altar.  He  stipulated  only  that  before  the  marriage 
Maieddine  should  prove,  not  his  willingness,  but  his  ability 
to  bring  bis  father's  people  into  the  field. 

"Go  to  the  douar,"  he  said,  "and  talk  with  the  chief  men. 
Then  bring  back  letters  from  them,  or  send  if  thou  wilt,  and  the 
girl  shall  be  thy  wife.  I  shall  indeed  be  gratified  by  the  con- 
nection between  thine  illustrious  family  and  mine." 

Maieddine  had  expected  this,  though  he  had  hoped  that  his 
eloquence  might  persuade  the  marabout  to  a  more  impulsive 
agreement.  "I  will  do  what  thou  askest,"  he  answered, 
"though  it  means  delay,  and  delay  is  hard  to  bear.  When  I 
passed  through  the  douar,  my  father's  chief  calds  were  on  the 
point  of  leaving  for  Algiers,  to  do  honour  to  the  Governor  by 
showing  themselves  at  the  yearly  ball.  They  will  have  started 
before  I  can  reach  the  douar  again,  by  the  fastest  travelling, 
for  as  thou  knowest,  I  should  be  some  days  on  the  way." 

"Go  then  to  Algiers,  and  meet  them.  That  is  best,  and 
will  be  quicker,  since  journeying  alone,  thou  canst  easily  arrive 
at  Touggourt  in  three  days  from  here.  In  two  more,  by  taking 
a  carriage  and  relays  of  horses,  thou  canst  be  at  Biskra;  and 
after  that,  there  remains  but  the  seventeen  hours  of  train 
travelling." 

"How  well  thou  keepest  track  of  all  progress,  though  things 
were  different  when  thou  wast  last  in  the  north,"  Maieddine  said. 

"It  is  my  business  to  know  all  that  goes  on  in  my  own  coun- 
try, north,  south,  east,  and  west.  When  wilt  thou  start?" 

"To-night." 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  377 

"Thou  art  indeed  in  earnest!  Thou  wilt  of  course  pay 
thine  own  respects  to  the  Governor?  I  will  send  him  a  gift 
by  thee.  since  there  is  no  reason  he  should  not  know  that  we 
have  met.  The  mission  on  which  thou  wert  ostensibly  trav- 
elling brought  thee  to  the  south." 

"I  will  take  thy  gift  and  messages  with  pleasure."  Maieddine 
said.  "It  was  expected  that  I  should  return  for  the  ball, 
and  present  myself  in  place  of  my  father,  who  is  too  old  now 
for  such  long  journeys;  but  I  intended  to  make  my  health  an 
excuse  for  absence.  I  should  have  pleaded  a  touch  of  the  sun, 
and  a  fever  caught  in  the  marshes  while  carrying  out  the  mission. 
Indeed,  it  is  true  that  I  am  subject  to  fever.  However,  I  will 
go,  since  thou  desirest.  The  ball,  which  was  delayed,  is  now 
fixed  for  a  week  from  to-morrow.  I  will  show  myself  for  some 
moments,  and  the  rest  of  the  night  I  can  devote  to  a  talk  with 
the  calds.  I  know  what  the  result  will  be.  And  a  fortnight 
from  to-morrow  thou  wilt  see  me  here  again  with  the  letters." 

"I  believe  thou  wilt  not  fail,"  the  marabout  answered. 
"And  neither  will  I  fail  thee." 


XL 


ON  THE  night  of  the  Governor's  ball,  it  was  four  weeks 
to  the  day  since  Stephen  Knight  and  Nevill  Caird 
had  inquired  for  Victoria  Ray  at  the  Hotel  de  la 
Kasbah,  and  found  her  gone. 

For  rather  more  than  a  fortnight,  they  had  searched  for 
her  quietly  without  applying  to  the  police;  but  when  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  no  letter  had  come,  or  news  of  any  kind,  the 
police  were  called  into  consultation.  Several  supposed  clues 
had  been  followed,  and  had  led  to  nothing;  but  Nevill  per- 
suaded Stephen  to  hope  something  from  the  ball.  If  any  ca'ids 
of  the  south  knew  that  Roumis  had  a  secret  reason  for  ques- 
tioning them,  they  would  pretend  to  know  nothing,  or  give 
misleading  answers ;  but  if  they  were  drawn  on  to  describe  their 
own  part  of  the. country,  and  the  facilities  for  travelling  through 
it,  news  of  those  who  had  lately  passed  that  way  might  be 
inadvertently  given. 

Stephen  was  no  longer  in  doubt  about  his  feelings  for  Vic- 
toria. He  knew  that  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  the  day  when 
she  came  to  Nevill's  house,  and  they  talked  together  in  the  lily 
garden.  He  knew  that  the  one  thing  worth  living  for  was  to 
find  her;  but  he  expected  no  happiness  from  seeing  her  again, 
rather  the  contrary.  Margot  would  soon  be  coming  back  to 
England  from  Canada,  and  he  planned  to  meet  her,  and  keep 
all  his  promises.  Only,  he  must  be  sure  first  that  Victoria 
Ray  was  safe.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  by  this  time  that, 
if  necessary,  Margot  would  have  to  wait  for  him.  He  would 
not  leave  Algeria  until  Victoria  had  been  found.  It  did  not 
matter  whether  this  decision  were  right  or  wrong,  he  would 

378 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  379 

stick  to  it.  Then,  he  would  atone  by  doing  as  well  as  he  could 
by  Margot.  She  should  have  no  cause  of  complaint  against  him 
in  the  future,  so  far  as  his  love  for  Victoria  was  concerned; 
but  he  did  not  mean  to  try  and  kill  it.  Love  for  such  a  girl 
was  too  sacred  to  kill,  even  though  it  meant  unhappiness  for 
him.  Stephen  meant  to  guard  it  always  in  his  heart,  like  a  lamp 
to  light  him  over  the  dark  places;  and  there  would  be  many  dark 
places  he  knew  in  a  life  lived  with  Margot. 

Through  many  anxious  days  he  looked  forward  to  the  Gov- 
ernor's ball,  pinning  his  faith  to  Nevill's  predictions;  but  when 
the  moment  came,  his  excitement  fell  like  the  wind  at  sunset. 
It  did  not  seem  possible  that,  after  weeks  of  suspense,  he 
should  have  news  now,  or  ever.  He  went  with  Nevill  to  the 
summer  palace,  feeling  dull  and  depressed.  But  perhaps  the 
depression  was  partly  the  effect  of  a  letter  from  Margot  Lorenzi 
in  Canada,  received  that  morning.  She  said  that  she  was  long- 
ing to  see  him,  and  "hurrying  all  she  knew,"  to  escape  from  her 
friends,  and  get  back  to  "dear  London,  and  her  darling  White 
Knight." 

"I'm  an  ass  to  expect  anything  from  coming  here,"  he 
thought,  as  he  saw  the  entrance  gates  of  the  palace  park  blaz- 
ing with  green  lights  in  a  trellis  of  verdure.  The  drive  and  all 
the  paths  that  wound  through  the  park  were  bordered  with 
tiny  lamps,  and  Chinese  lanterns  hung  from  the  trees.  There 
was  sure  to  be  a  crush,  and  it  seemed  absurd  to  hope  that  even 
Nevill's  cajoleries  could  draw  serious  information  from  Arab 
guests  in  such  a  scene  as  this. 

The  two  young  men  went  into  the  palace,  passing  through 
a  big  veranda  where  French  officers  were  playing  bridge,  and 
on  into  a  charming  court,  where  Turkish  coffee  was  being 
served.  Up  from  this  court  a  staircase  led  to  the  room  where 
the  Governor  was  receiving,  and  at  each  turn  of  the  stairs  stood 
a  Spahi  in  full  dress  uniform,  with  a  long  white  haick.  Nevill 
was  going  on  ahead,  meaning  to  introduce  Stephen  to  the  Gov- 
ernor before  beginning  his  search  for  acquaintances  among  the 


380  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Arab  chiefs  who  grouped  together  over  the  coffee  cups.  But, 
turning  to  speak  to  Stephen,  who  had  been  close  behind  at 
starting,  he  found  that  somehow  they  had  been  swept  apart. 
He  stepped  aside  to  wait  for  his  friend,  and  let  the  crowd  troop 
past  him  up  the  wide  staircase.  Among  the  first  to  go  by  was 
an  extremely  handsome  Arab  wearing  a  scarlet  cloak  heavy  with 
gold  embroidery,  thrown  over  a  velvet  coat  so  thickly  encrusted 
with  gold  that  its  pale-blue  colour  showed  only  here  and  there. 
He  held  his  turbaned  head  proudly,  and,  glancing  at  Caird 
as  he  passed,  seemed  not  to  see  him,  but  rather  to  see  through 
him  something  more  interesting  beyond. 

Nevill  still  waited  for  his  friend,  but  fully  two  minutes  had 
gone  before  Stephen  appeared.  "Did  you  see  that  fellow  in 
the  red  cloak?"  he  asked.  "That  was  the  Arab  of  the  ship." 

"Si  Maieddine " 

"Yes.  Did  you  notice  a  queer  brooch  that  held  his  cloak 
together  ?  A  wheel-like  thing,  set  with  jewels  ?  " 

"No.     He  hadn't  it  on.     His  cloak  was  hanging  open." 

"By  Jove!     You're  sure?" 

"Certain.     I  saw  the  whole  breast  of  his  coat." 

"That  settles  it,  then.  He  did  recognize  me.  Hang  it 
I  wish  he  hadn't." 

"I  don't  know  what's  in  your  mind  exactly.  But  I  suppose 
you'll  tell  me." 

"Rather.  But  no  time  now.  We  mustn't  lose  sight  of 
nim  if  we  can  help  it.  I  wanted  to  follow  him  up,  on  the 
instant,  but  didn't  dare,  for  I  hoped  he'd  think  I  hadn't  spotted 
him.  He  can't  be  sure,  anyhow,  for  I  had  the  presence  of 
mind  not  to  stare.  Let's  go  up  now.  He  was  on  his  way  to 
pay  his  respects  to  the  Governor,  I  suppose.  He  can't  have 
slipped  away  yet." 

"It  would  seem  not,"  Nevill  assented,  thoughtfully. 

But  a  few  minutes  later,  it  seemed  that  he  had.  And  Nevill 
was  not  surprised,  for  in  the  last  nine  years  he  had  learned  never 
to  wonder  at  the  quick-witted  diplomacy  of  Arabs.  Si  Maied- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  381 

dine  had  made  short  work  of  his  compliments  to  the  Governor, 
and  had  passed  out  of  sight  by  the  time  that  Stephen  Knight  and 
Nevill  Caird  escaped  from  the  line  of  Europeans  and  gorgeous 
Arabs  pressing  towards  their  host.  It  was  not  certain,  how- 
ever, that  he  had  left  the  palace.  His  haste  to  get  on  might 
be  only  a  coincidence,  Nevill  pointed  out.  "  Frenchified  Arabs  " 
like  Si  Maiieddine,  he  said,  were  passionately  fond  of  dancing 
with  European  women,  and  very  likely  Maiieddine  was  anxious 
to  secure  a  waltz  with  some  Frenchwomen  of  his  acquaintance. 

The  two  Englishmen  went  on  as  quickly  as  they  could,  with- 
out seeming  to  hurry,  and  looked  for  Maleddine  in  the  gaily 
decorated  ball-room  where  a  great  number  of  Europeans  and  a 
few  Arabs  were  dancing.  Maieddine  would  have  been  easy  to 
find  there,  for  his  high-held  head  in  its  white  turban  must  have 
towered  above  most  other  heads,  even  those  of  the  tallest 
French  officers;  but  he  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  Nevill  guided 
Stephen  out  of  the  ball-room  into  a  great  court  decorated  with 
palms  and  banners,  and  jewelled  with  hundreds  of  coloured 
lights  that  turned  the  fountain  into  a  spouting  rainbow. 

Pretty  women  sat  talking  with  officers  in  uniforms,  and 
watching  the  dancers  as  they  strolled  out  arm  in  arm,  to  walk 
slowly  round  the  flower-decked  fountain.  Behind  the  chatting 
Europeans  stood  many  Arab  chiefs  of  different  degree,  bach 
aghas,  aghas,  cai'ds  and  adels,  looking  on  silently,  or  -talking 
together  in  low  voices;  and  compared  with  these  stately,  dark 
men  in  their  magnificent  costumes  blazing  with  jewels  and 
medals,  the  smartest  French  officers  were  reduced  to  insignifi- 
cance. There  were  many  handsome  men,  but  Si  Maiieddine 
was  not  among  them. 

"We've  been  told  that  he's  persona  grata  here,"  Nevill 
reminded  Stephen,  "and  there  are  lots  of  places  where  he 
may  be  in  the  palace,  that  we  can't  get  to.  He's  perhaps  hob- 
nobbing with  some  pal,  having  a  private  confab,  and  maybe 
he'll  turn  up  at  supper." 

"He  doesn't  look  like  a  man  to  care  about  food,  I  will  say 


382  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

that  for  him,"  answered  Stephen.  "He's  taken  the  alarm, 
and  sneaked  off  without  giving  me  time  to  track  him.  I'll  bet 
anything  that's  the  fact.  Hiding  the  brooch  is  a  proof  he 
saw  me,  I'm  afraid.  Smart  of  him!  He  thought  my  friend 
would  be  somewhere  about,  and  he'd  better  get  rid  of  dam- 
aging evidence." 

"You  haven't  explained  the  brooch,  yet." 

"I  forgot.  It's  one  she  wore  on  the  boat  —  and  that  day 
at  your  house  —  Miss  Ray,  I  mean.  She  told  me  about  it; 
said  it  had  been  a  present  from  Ben  Halim  to  her  sister,  who 
gave  it  to  her." 

"Sure  you  couldn't  mistake  it?  There's  a  strong  family 
likeness  in  Arab  jewellery." 

"I'm  sure.  And  even  if  I  hadn't  been  at  first,  I  should 
be  now,  from  that  chap's  whisking  it  off  the  instant  he  set  eyes 
on  me.  His  having  it  proves  a  lot.  As  she  wore  the  thing  at 
your  house,  he  must  have  got  it  somehow  after  we  saw  her. 
Jove,  Nevill,  I'd  like  to  choke  him!" 

"If  you  did,  he  couldn't  tell  what  he  knows." 

"I'm  going  to  find  out  somehow.  Come  along,  no  use  wast- 
ing time  here  now,  trying  to  get  vague  information  out  of  Arab 
chiefs.  We  can  learn  more  by  seeing  where  this  brute  lives, 
than  by  catechizing  a  hundred  caiids." 

"  It's  too  late  for  him  to  get  away  from  Algiers  to-night  by 
train,  anyhow,"  said  Nevill.  "Nothing  goes  anywhere  in  par- 
ticular. And  look  here,  Legs,  if  he's  really  onto  us,  he  won't 
have  made  himself  scarce  without  leaving  some  pal  he  can  trust, 
to  see  what  we're  up  to." 

"There  were  two  men  close  behind  who  might  have  been 
with  him,"  Stephen  remembered  aloud. 

"Would  you  recognize  them  ?" 

"I  —  think  so.  One  of  the  two,  anyhow.  Very  dark, 
hook-nosed,  middle-aged  chap,  pitted  with  smallpox." 

"Then  you  may  be  sure  he's  chosen  the  less  noticeable  one. 
No  good  our  trying  to  find  Maleddine  himself,  if  he's  left  the 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  383 

palace;  though  I  hope,  by  putting  our  heads  and  Roslin's 
together,  that  among  the  three  of  us  we  shall  pick  him  up  later. 
But  if  he's  left  somebody  here  to  keep  an  eye  on  us,  our  best 
course  is  to  keep  an  eye  on  that  somebody.  They'll  have  to 
communicate." 

"You're  right,"  Stephen  admitted.  "I'm  vague  about  the 
face,  but  I'll  force  myself  to  recognize  it.  That's  the  sort  of 
thing  Miss  Ray  would  do.  She's  got  some  quaint  theory  about 
controlling  your  subconscious  self.  Now  I'll  take  a  leaf  out  of 
her  book.  By  Jove  —  there's  one  of  the  men  now.  Don't 
look  yet.  He  doesn't  seem  to  notice  us,  but  who  knows  ?  He's 
standing  by  the  door,  under  a  palm.  Let's  go  back  into  the  ball- 
room, and  see  if  he  follows." 

But  to  "see  if  he  followed"  was  more  easily  said  than  done. 
The  Arab,  a  melancholy  and  grizzled  but  dignified  caid  of  the 
south,  contrived  to  lose  himself  in  a  crowd  of  returning  dancers, 
and  it  was  not  until  later  that  the  friends  saw  him  in  the  ball- 
room, talking  to  a  French  officer  and  having  not  at  all  the  air 
of  one  who  spied  or  followed.  Whether  he  remained  because 
they  remained  was  hard  to  say,  for  the  scene  was  amusing  and 
many  Arabs  watched  it;  but  he  showed  no  sign  of  restlessness, 
and  it  began  to  seem  laughable  to  Nevill  that,  if  he  waited  for 
them,  they  would  be  forced  to  wait  for  him.  Eventually  they 
made  a  pretence  of  eating  supper.  The  caid  was  at  the  buffet 
with  an  Arab  acquaintance.  The  Englishmen  lingered  so  long, 
that  in  the  end  he  walked  away ;  yet  they  were  at  his  beck  and 
call.  They  must  go  after  him,  if  he  went  before  them,  and  it 
was  irritating  to  see  that,  when  he  had  taken  respectful  leave 
of  his  host,  the  sad-faced  ca'id  proceeded  quietly  out  of  the 
palace  as  if  he  had  nothing  to  conceal.  Perhaps  he  had  nothing 
or  else,  suspecting  the  game,  he  was  forcing  the  hand  of  the 
enemy.  Stephen  and  Nevill  had  to  follow,  if  they  would  keep 
him  in  sight;  and  though  they  walked  as  far  behind  as  possible, 
passing  out  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  park,  they  could  not  be 
sure  that  he  did  not  guess  they  were  after  him. 


384  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

They  had  walked  the  short  distance  from  Djenan  el  Djouad 
to  the  Governor's  summer  palace;  and  now,  outside  the  gates, 
the  caiid  turned  to  the  left,  which  was  their  way  home  also. 
This  was  lucky,  because,  if  the  man  were  on  the  alert,  and  knew 
where  Nevill  lived,  he  would  have  no  reason  to  suppose  they 
took  this  direction  on  his  account. 

But  he  had  not  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  when  he  stopped, 
and  rang  at  a  gate  in  a  high  white  wall. 

"Djenan  el  Taleb,"  mumbled  Nevill.  "Perhaps  Si  Maled- 
dine's  visiting  there  —  or  else  this  old  beggar  is." 

"Is  it  an  Arab's  house  ?"  Stephen  wanted  to  know. 

"  Was  once  —  long  ago  as  pirate  days.  Now  a  Frenchman 
owns  it  —  Monsieur  de  Mora  —  friend  of  the  Governor's. 
Always  puts  up  several  chiefs  at  the  time  of  the  ball." 

The  gate  opened  to  let  the  cald  in  and  was  shut  again. 

"Hurrah!  —  just  thought  of  a  plan,"  exclaimed  Nevill.  "I 
don't  think  De  Mora  can  have  got  home  yet  from  the  palace. 
I  saw  him  having  supper.  Suppose  I  dart  back,  flutter  grace- 
fully round  him,  babble  'tile  talk'  a  bit  —  he's  a  tile  expert 
after  my  own  heart  —  then  casually  ask  what  Arabs  he's  got 
staying  with  him.  If  Maieddine's  in  his  house  it  can't  be  a 
secret  —  incidentally  I  may  find  out  where  the  fellow  comes 
from  and  where  he's  going." 

"Good!"  said  Stephen.  "I'll  hang  about  in  the  shadow 
of  some  tree  and  glue  my  eye  to  this  gate.  Is  there  any  other 
way  out?" 

"There  is;  but  not  one  a  visitor  would  be  likely  to  take, 
especially  if  he  didn't  want  to  be  seen.  It  opens  into  a  street 
where  a  lot  of  people  might  be  standing  to  peer  into  the  palace 
grounds  and  hear  the  music.  Now  run  along,  Legs,  and  find  a 
comfortable  shadow.  I'm  off." 

He  was  gone  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  but  nothing  hap- 
pened meanwhile.  Nobody  went  in  at  the  gate,  or  came  out, 
and  the  time  dragged  for  Stephen.  He  thought  of  a  hundred 
dangers  that  might  be  threatening  Victoria,  and  it  seemed  that 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  385 

Caird  would  never  come.     But  at  last  he  saw  the  boyish  figure, 
hurrying  along  under  the  light  of  a  street-lamp. 

"Couldn't  find  De  Mora  at  first  — then  had  to  work  slowly 
up  to  the  subject,"  Nevill  panted.  "But  it's  all  right.  Maled- 
dine  is  stopping  with  him — leaves  to-morrow  or  day  after; 
supposed  to  have  come  from  El  Aghouat,  and  to  be  going  back 
there.  But  that  isn't  to  say  either  supposition's  true." 

"We  must  find  out  where  he's  going  —  have  him  watched," 
said  Stephen. 

"Yes.  Only,  the  trouble  is,  if  he's  on  to  the  game,  it's 
just  what  he'll  expect.  But  I've  been  thinking  how  we  may  be 
able  to  bluff  —  make  him  think  it  was  his  guilty  conscience 
tricked  him  to  imagine  our  interest  in  his  movements.  You 
know  I'm  giving  a  dinner  to-morrow  night  to  a  few  people  ?" 

"Yes.     Lady  MacGregor  told  me." 

"Well,  a  Mademoiselle  Vizet,  a  niece  of  De  Mora's,  is  coming, 
so  that  gave  me  a  chance  to  mention  the  dinner  to  her  uncle. 
Mai'eddine  can  easily  hear  about  it,  if  he  chooses  to  inquire 
what's  going  on  at  my  house.  And  I  said  something  else  to  De 
Mora,  for  the  benefit  of  the  same  gentleman.  I  hope  you'll 
approve." 

"Sure  to.     What  was  it?" 

"That  I  was  sorry  my  friend,  Mr.  Knight,  had  got  news 
which  would  call  him  away  from  Algiers  before  the  dinner.  I 
said  you'd  be  going  on  board  the  Charles  Quex  to-morrow  when 
she  leaves  for  Marseilles." 

"But  Maieddine  can  find  out " 

"That's  just  what  we  want.  He  can  find  out  that  your 
ticket's  taken,  if  we  do  take  it.  He  can  see  you  go  on  board 
if  he  likes  to  watch  or  send  a  spy.  But  he  mustn't  see  you 
sneaking  off  again  with  the  Arab  porters  who  carry  luggage.  If 
you  think  anything  of  the  plan,  you'll  have  to  stand  the  price  of 
a  berth,  and  let  some  luggage  you  can  do  without,  go  to  Mar- 
seilles. I'll  see  you  off,  and  stop  on  board  till  the  last  minute. 
You'll  be  in  your  cabin,  putting  on  the  clothes  I  wear  some- 


386  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

times  when  I  want  some  fun  in  the  old  town  — striped  wool 
burnous,  hood  over  your  head,  full  white  trousers  —  good 
'props,'  look  a  lot  the  worse  for  wear — white  stockings  like 
my  Kabyle  servants  have;  and  you  can  rub  a  bit  of  brown  grease- 
paint on  your  legs  where  the  socks  leave  off.  That's  what  I 
do.  Scheme  sounds  complicated;  but  so  is  an  Arab's  brain. 
You've  got  to  match  it.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  say  'done!'"  Stephen  answered. 

"Thought  you  would.  Some  fellows'd  think  it  too  sen- 
sational; but  you  can't  be  too  sensational  with  Arabs,  if  you  want 
to  beat  'em.  This  ought  to  put  Mai'eddine  off  the  scent.  If  he's 
watching,  and  sees  you  —  as  he  thinks  —  steam  calmly  out  of 
Algiers  harbour,  and  if  he  knows  I'm  entertaining  people  at  my 
house,  he  won't  see  why  he  need  go  on  bothering  himself  with 
extra  precautions." 

"Right.  But  suppose  he's  off  to-morrow  morning  — or  even 
to-night." 

"Then  we  needn't  bother  about  the  boat  business.  For  we 
shall  know  if  he  goes.  Either  you  or  I  must  now  look  up  Roslin. 
Perhaps  it  had  better  be  I,  because  I  can  run  into  Djenan  el 
Djouad  first,  and  send  my  man  Saunders  to  watch  De  Mora's 
other  gate,  and  make  assurance  doubly  sure." 

"You're  a  brick,  Wings,"  said  Stephen. 


XLI 


LiDY  MACGREGOR  had  sat  up  in  order  to  hear 
the  news,  and  was  delighted  with  Nevill's  plan, 
especially  the  part  which  concerned  Stephen,  and 
his  proposed  adventure  on  the  Charles  Quex. 
Even  to  hear  about  it,  made  her  feel  young  again,  she  said. 
Nothing  ever  happened  to  her  or  to  Nevill  when  they  were 
alone,  and  they  ought  to  be  thankful  to  Stephen  for  stirring 
them  up.  Not  one  of  the  three  had  more  than  two  hours' 
sleep  that  night,  but  according  to  her  nephew,  Lady  Mac- 
Gregor  looked  sweet  sixteen  when  she  appeared  at  an  unusual- 
ly early  hour  next  morning.  "No  breakfast  in  bed  for  me 
to-day,  or  for  days  to  come,"  said  she.  "I'll  have  my  hands 
full  every  instant  getting  through  what  I've  got  to  do,  I  can 
tell  you.  Hamish  and  Angus  are  worried  about  my  health,  but 
I  say  to  them  they  needn't  grudge  me  a  new  interest  in  life. 
It's  very  good  for  me." 

"Why,  what  have  you  got  to  do?"  ventured  Nevill,  who 
was  ready  to  go  with  Stephen  and  buy  a  berth  on  board  the 
Charles  Quex  the  moment  the  office  opened. 

Lady  MacGregor  looked  at  him  mysteriously.  "  Being  men, 
I  suppose  neither  of  you  would  guess,"  she  replied.  "But 
you  shall  both  know  after  Stephen's  adventure  is  over.  ] 
hope  you'll  like  the  idea.  But  if  you  don't  I'm  sorry  to  say 
it  won't  make  any  difference." 

The  so-called  "  adventure "  had  less  of  excitement  in  it  than 
had  been  in  the  planning.  It  was  faithfully  carried  out  ac- 
cording to  Nevill's  first  suggestion,  with  a  few  added  details, 
but  Stephen  felt  incredibly  foolish,  rather  like  a  Guy  Fawkes 

387 


388  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

mummer,  or  a  masked  and  bedizened  guest  arriving  by  mis- 
take the  night  after  the  ball.  So  far  as  he  could  see,  no  one 
was  watching.  All  his  trouble  seemed  to  be  for  nothing,  and 
he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  even  when  it  was 
over,  and  he  had  changed  into  civilized  clothing,  in  a  room 
in  the  old  town,  taken  by  Adolphe  Roslin,  the  detective.  It 
was  arranged  for  Stephen  to  wait  there,  until  Roslin  could  give 
him  news  of  Si  Maleddine's  movements,  lest  the  Arab  should 
be  subtle  enough  to  suspect  a  trick,  after  all. 

Toward  evening  the  news  came.  Maieddine  had  taken  a 
ticket  for  Biskra,  and  a  sleeping  berth  in  the  train  which 
would  leave  at  nine  o'clock.  Nevertheless,  Roslin  had  a  man 
watching  Monsieur  de  Mora's  house,  in  case  the  buying  of  the 
ticket  were  a  "bluff,"  or  Si  Maieddine  should  change  his 
plans  at  the  last  minute. 

Nevill  had  come  in,  all  excitement,  having  bought  cheap 
"  antique  "  jewellery  in  a  shop  downstairs,  by  way  of  an  excuse 
to  enter  the  house.  He  was  with  Stephen  when  Roslin  ar- 
rived, and  they  consulted  together  as  to  what  should  be  done 
next. 

"Roslin  must  buy  me  a  ticket  for  Biskra,  of  course,"  said 
Stephen.  "I'll  hang  about  the  station  in  an  overcoat  with 
my  collar  turned  up  and  a  cap  over  my  eyes.  If  Maieddine 
gets  into  the  train  I'll  get  in  too,  at  a  respectful  distance  of 
course,  and  keep  an  eye  open  to  see  what  he  does  at 
each  stop." 

"There's  a  change  of  trains,  to-morrow  morning,"  re- 
marked Nevill.  "There'll  be  your  difficulty,  because  after 
you're  out  of  one  train  you  have  to  wait  for  the  other.  Easy 
to  hide  in  Algiers  station,  and  make  a  dash  for  the  end  of  the 
train  when  you're  sure  of  your  man.  But  in  a  little  open, 
road-side  halting-place,  in  broad  daylight,  you'll  have  to  be 
sharp  if  you  don't  want  him  to  spot  you.  Naturally  he'll  keep 
his  eyes  as  wide  open,  all  along  the  line,  as  you  will,  even 
though  he  dbes  think  you're  on  the  way  to  Marseilles." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  389 

"If  you're  working  up  to  a  burnous  and  painted  legs  for  me 
again,  my  dear  chap,  it's  no  good,"  Stephen  returned  with  the 
calmness  of  desperation.  "I've  done  with  that  sort  of  non- 
sense; but  I  won't  trust  myself  out  of  the  train  till  I  see  the 
Arab's  back.  Then  I'll  make  a  bolt  for  it  and  dodge  him,  till 
the  new  train's  run  along  the  platform  and  he's  safely 
in  it." 

"  Monsieur  has  confidence  in  himself  as  a  detective,"  smiled 
Roslin. 

Knight  could  have  given  a  sarcastic  answer,  since  the  young 
man  from  Marseilles  had  not  made  much  progress  with  the 
seemingly  simple  case  put  into  his  hands  a  month  ago.  But 
both  he  and  Nevill  had  come  to  think  that  the  case  was  not 
simple,  and  they  were  lenient  with  Roslin.  "I  hope  I'm  not 
conceited,"  Stephen  defended  himself,  "but  I  do  feel  that  I 
can  at  least  keep  my  end  up  against  this  nigger,  anyhow  till 
the  game's  played  out  so  far  that  he  can't  stop  it." 

"And  till  I'm  in  it  with  you,"  Nevill  finished.  "By  the 
way,  that  reminds  me.  Some  one  else  intends  to  play  the 
game  with  us,  whether  we  like  or  not." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Stephen,  surprised  and  half  defiant. 

"My  aunt.  That's  the  mystery  she  was  hinting  at.  You 
know  how  unnaturally  quiet  she  was  while  we  arranged  that 
you  should  look  after  Maleddine,  on  your  own,  till  the  dinner- 
party was  over,  anyhow,  and  I  could  get  off,  on  a  wire  from  you 
—  wherever  you  might  be  ?" 

"Yes.     She  seemed  interested." 

"And  busy.  Her  'great  work'  was  getting  herself  ready 
to  follow  you  with  me,  in  the  car." 

"Magnificent!"  said  Stephen.  "And  like  her.  Hurrah 
for  Lady  MacGregor!" 

"I'm  glad  you  take  it  that  way.  I  wasn't  sure  you  would, 
which  might  have  made  things  awkward  for  me;  because 
when  my  aunt  wants  to  do  a  thing,  you  know  by  this  time  as 
well  as  I  do,  it's  as  good  as  done." 


390  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"  But  it's  splendid  —  if  she  can  stand  the  racket.  Of 
course  her  idea  is,  that  if  we  find  Miss  Ray  she  oughtn't  to 
come  back  alone  with  us,  perhaps  a  long  way,  from  some 
outlandish  hole." 

"You've  got  it.  That's  her  argument.  Or  rather,  her 
mandate.  And  I  believe  she's  quite  able  to  stand  the  racket. 
Her  state  of  mind  is  such,  that  if  she  looked  sixteen  in  the 
morning,  this  afternoon  she's  gone  back  to  fifteen." 

"  Wonderful  old  lady !  But  she's  so  fragile  —  and  has 
nervous  headaches 

"  She  won't  have  any  in  my  motor  car." 

"  But  Hamis,h  and  Angus.     Can  she  get  on  without  them  ? 

"  She  intends  to  have  them  follow  her  by  train,  with  luggage. 
She  says  she  has  a  '  feeling  in  her  bones '  that  they'll  come  in 
handy,  either  for  cooking  or  fighting.  And  by  Jove,  she  may 
be  right.  She  often  is.  If  you  go  to  Biskra  and  wire  when  you 
get  there,  I'll  start  at  once  —  we'll  start,  I  mean.  And  if 
Mai'eddine  goes  on  anywhere  else,  and  you  follow  to  keep 
him  in  sight,  I'll  probably  catch  you  up  with  the  car,  because 
the  railway  line  ends  at  Biskra,  you  know;  and  beyond,  there 
are  only  horses  or  camels." 

"  Can  motors  go  farther  ?  " 

"  They  can  to  Touggourt  —  with  'deeficulty,'  as  the  noble 
twins  would  say." 

"  Ma'ieddine  may  take  a  car." 

"  Not  likely.  Though  there's  just  a  chance  he  might  get  some 
European  friend  with  a  motor  to  give  him  a  lift.  In  that  case, 
you'd  be  rather  stuck." 

"  Motor  cars  leave  tracks,"  said  Stephen. 

"Especially  in  the  desert,  where  they  are  quite  conspicuous," 
Nevill  agreed.  "  My  aunt  will  be  enchanted  with  your  opinion 
of  her  and  her  plan  —  but  not  surprised.  She  thinks  you've 
twice  my  sense  and  knowledge  of  the  world." 

Nevill  usually  enjoyed  his  own  dinner-parties,  for  he  was  a 
born  host,  and  knew  that  guests  were  happy  in  his  house. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  391 

That  night,  however,  was  an  exception.  He  was  absent- 
minded,  and  pulled  his  moustache,  and  saw  beautiful  things 
in  the  air  over  people's  heads,  so  often  that  not  only  Lady 
M acGregor  but  Angus  and  Hamish  glared  at  him  threateningly. 
He  then  did  his  best  to  atone;  nevertheless,  for  once  he  was 
delighted  when  every  one  had  gone.  At  last  he  was  able  to 
read  for  the  second  tune  a  letter  from  Roslin,  sent  in  while 
dinner  was  in  progress.  There  had  been  only  time  for  a  glance 
at  it,  by  begging  his  friends'  indulgence  for  an  instant,  while 
he  bolted  the  news  that  Stephen  had  followed  Ma'ieddine  to 
Biskra.  Now,  Nevill  and  Lady  MacGregor  both  hugely 
enjoyed  the  details  given  by  Roslin  from  the  report  of  an 
employe;  how  cleverly  Monsieur  had  kept  eut  of  sight,  though 
the  Arab  had  walked  up  and  down  the  platform,  with  two 
friends,  looking  about  keenly.  How,  when  Maiieddine  was 
safely  housed  in  his  compartment,  his  companions  looking 
up  to  his  window  for  a  last  word,  Monsieur  Knight  had  whisked 
himself  into  a  second-class  compartment  at  the  other  end  of 
the  train. 

Next  day,  about  four  o'clock,  a  telegram  was  brought  to 
Djenan  el  Djouad.  It  came  from  Biskra,  and  said :  "  Arrived 
here.  Not  spotted.  He  went  house  of  French  commandant 
with  no  attempt  at  concealment.  Am  waiting.  Will  wire 
again  soon  as  have  news.  Perhaps  better  not  start  till  you  hear. " 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  a  second  blue  envelope  was  put  into 
Nevill's  hand. 

"He  and  an  officer  leave  for  Touggourt  in  private  carriage 
three  horses  relays  ordered.  Have  interviewed  livery  stable. 
They  start  at  five  will  travel  all  night.  I  follow." 

"  Probably  some  officer  was  going  on  military  business,  and 
Ma'ieddine's  asked  for  a  lift,"  Nevill  said  to  Lady  MacGregor. 
""Well,  it's  too  late  for  us  to  get  away  now;  but  we'll  be  off 
as  early  as  you  like  to-morrow  morning." 

"If  I  weren't  going,  would  you  start  to-day?"  his  aunt 
inquired. 


392  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.     But " 

"Then  please  give  orders  for  the  car.  I'm  ready  to  leave 
at  five  minutes'  notice,  and  I  can  go  on  as  long  as  you  can. 
I'm  looking  forward  to  the  trip." 

"But  I've  often  offered  to  take  you  to  Biskra." 

"That's  different.     Now  I've  got  an  incentive." 


XLII 

JUST  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  great  chott  between 
Biskra  and  Touggourt,  Stephen  heard  a  sound  which 
struck  him  strangely  in  the  silence  of  the  desert.  It 
was  the  distant  teuf-teuf  of  a  powerful  motor  car, 
labouring  heavily  through  deep  sand. 

Stephen  was  travelling  in  a  carriage,  which  he  had  hired  in 
Biskra,  and  was  keeping  as  close  as  he  dared  to  the  vehicle  in 
front,  shared  by  Maieddine  and  a  French  officer.  But  he 
never  let  himself  come  within  sight  or  sound  of  it.  Now,  as 
he  began  to  hear  the  far-off  panting  of  a  motor,  he  saw  nothing 
ahead  but  the  vast  saltpetre  lake,  which,  viewed  from  the  hill 
his  three  horses  had  just  climbed,  shimmered  blue  and  silver, 
like  a  magic  sea,  reaching  to  the  end  of  the  world.  "  There  were 
white  lines  like  long  ruffles  of  foam  on  the  edges  of  azure  waves, 
struck  still  by  enchantment  while  breaking  on  an  unseen 
shore ;  and  far  off,  along  a  mystic  horizon,  little  islands  floated 
on  the  gleaming  flood.  Stephen  could  hardly  believe  that 
there  was  no  water,  and  that  his  horses  could  travel  the  blue 
depths  without  wetting  their  feet. 

It  was  just  as  he  was  thinking  thus,  and  wondering  if  Vic- 
toria had  passed  this  way,  when  the  strange  sound  came  to  his 
ears,  out  of  the  distance.  "Stop,"  he  said  in  French  to  his 
Arab  driver.  "  I  think  friends  of  mine  will  be  in  that  car." 
He  was  right.  A  few  minutes  later  Nevill  and  Lady  Mac- 
Gregor  waved  to  him,  as  he  stood  on  the  top  of  a  low  sand-dune. 

Lady  MacGregor  was  more  fairy  like  than  ever  in  a  little 
motoring  bonnet  made  for  a  young  girl,  but  singularly  becom- 
ing to  her.  They  had  had  a  glorious  journey,  she  said.  She 

303 


394  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

supposed  some  people  would  consider  that  she  had  endured 
hardships,  but  they  were  not  worth  speaking  of.  She  had 
been  rather  bumped  about  on  the  ghastly  desert  tracks  since 
Biskra,  but  though  she  was  not  quite  sure  if  all  her  bones  were 
whole,  she  did  not  feel  in  the  least  tired ;  and  even  if  she  did,  the 
memory  of  the  Gorge  of  El  Kantara  would  alone  be  enough 
to  make  up  for  it. 

"  Anything  new  ?"  asked  Nevill. 

"Nothing,"  Stephen  answered,  "except  that  the  driver  of  the 
carriage  ahead  let  drop  at  the  last  bordj  that  he'd  been  hired 
by  the  French  officer,  who  was  taking  Maieddine  with  him." 

"  Just  what  we  thought,"  Lady  MacGregor  broke  in. 

"And  the  carriage  will  bring  the  Frenchman  back,  later. 
Mai'eddine's  going  on.  But  I  haven't  found  out  where." 

"H'm!  I  was  in  hopes  we  were  close  to  our  journey's  end 
at  Touggourt,"  said  Nevill.  "The  car  can't  get  farther,  I'm 
afraid.  The  big  dunes  begin  there." 

"Whatever  Maieddine  does,  we  can  follow  his  example.  I 
mean,  I  can,"  Stephen  amended. 

"  So  can  Nevill.  I'm  no  spoil-sport,"  snapped  the  old  lady, 
in  her  childlike  voice.  "I  know  what  I.  can  do  and  what  I 
can't.  I  draw  the  line  at  camels !  Angus  and  Hainish  will  take 
care  of  me,  and  I'll  wait  for  you  at  Touggourt.  I  can  amuse 
myself  in  the  market-place/ and  looking  at  the  Ouled  Nai'ls,  till 
you  find  Miss  Ray,  or  — 

"There  won't  be  an  'or,'  Lady  MacGregor.  We  must 
find  her.  And  we  must  bring  her  to  you,"  said  Stephen. 

He  had  slept  in  the  carriage  the  night  before,  a  little  on  the 
Biskra  side  of  Chegga,  because  Maieddine  and  the  French 
officer  had  rested  at  Chegga.  Nevill  and  Lady  MacGregor 
had  started  from  Biskra  at  five  o'clock  that  morning,  having 
arrived  there  the  evening  before.  It  was  now  ten,  and  they 
could  make  Touggourt  that  nighl.  But  they  wished  Maied- 
dine to  reach  there  first,  so  they  stopped  by  the  chott,  and 
lunched  from  a  smartly  fitted  picnic-basket  Lady  MacGregor 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  395 

had  brought.  Stephen  paid  his  Arab  coachman,  told  him 
he  might  go  back,  and  transferred  a  small  suitcase  —  his  only 
luggage  —  from  the  carriage  to  the  car.  They  gave  Maieddine 
two  hours'  grace,  and  having  started  on,  always  slowed  up 
whenever  Nevill's  field-glasses  showed  a  slowly  trotting  ve- 
hicle on  the  far  horizon.  The  road,  which  was  hardly  a  road, 
far  exceeded  in  roughness  the  desert  track  Stephen  had  won- 
dered at  on  the  way  from  Msila  to  Bou-Saada;  but  Lady 
MacGregor  had  the  courage,  he  told  her,  of  a  Joan 
of  Arc. 

They  bumped  steadily  along,  through  the  heat  of  the  day, 
protected  from  the  blazing  sun  by  the  raised  hood,  but  they 
were  thankful  when,  after  the  dinner-halt,  darkness  began  to 
fall.  Talking  over  ways  and  means,  they  decided  not  to  drive 
into  Touggourt,  where  an  automobile  would  be  a  conspicuous 
object  since  few  motors  risked  springs  and  tyres  by  coming  so 
far  into  the  desert.  The  chauffeur  should  be  sent  into  the 
town  while  the  passengers  sat  in  the  car  a  mile  away. 

Eventually  Paul  was  instructed  to  demand  oil  for  his  small 
lamps,  by  way  of  an  excuse  for  having  tramped  into  town. 
He  was  to  find  out  what  had  become  of  the  two  men  who  must 
have  arrived  about  an  hour  before,  in  a  carriage. 

While  the  chauffeur  was  gone,  Lady  MacGregor  played 
Patience  and  insisted  on  teaching  Stephen  and  Nevill  two  new 
games.  She  said  that  it  would  be  good  discipline  for  their 
souls;  and  so  perhaps  it  was.  But  Stephen  never  ceased  cal- 
culating how  long  Paul  ought  to  be  away.  Twenty  minutes 
to  walk  a  mile  —  or  thirty  minutes  in  desert  sand ;  forty  min- 
utes to  make  inquiries;  surely  it  needn't  take  longer!  And 
thirty  minutes  back.  But  an  hour  and  a  half  dragged  on,  be- 
fore there  was  any  sign  of  the  absentee;  then  at  last,  Stephen's 
eye,  roving  wistfully  from  the  cards,  saw  a  moving  spark  at 
about  the  right  height  above  the  ground  to  be  a  cigarette. 

A  few  yards  away  from  the  car,  the  spark  vanished  de- 
corously, and  Paul  was  recognizable,  in  the  light  of  the  inside 


396  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

electric  lamp,  the  only  illumination  they  allowed  themselves, 
lest  the  stranded  car  prove  attractive  to  neighbouring  nomads. 

The  French  officer  was  at  the  hotel  for  the  night;  the  Arab 
was  dining  with  him,  but  instead  of  resting,  would  go  on  with 
his  horse  and  a  Negro  servant  who,  it  seemed,  had  been  waiting 
for  several  days,  since  their  master  had  passed  through  Toug- 
gourt  on  the  way  to  Algiers. 

"Then  he  didn't  come  from  El  Aghouat,"  said  Nevill. 
"  Where  is  he  going  ?  Did  you  find  out  that  ?  " 

"Not  for  certain.  But  an  Arab  servant  who  talks  French, 
says  he  believes  they're  bound  for  a  place  called  Oued  Tolga," 
Paul  replied,  delighted  with  the  confidence  reposed  in  him,  and 
with  the  whole  adventure. 

"That  means  three  days  in  the  dunes  for  us!"  said  Nevill. 
"Aunt  Charlotte,  you  can  practice  Patience,  in  Touggourt." 

"I  shall  invent  a  new  game,  and  call  it  Hope,"  returned  Lady 
MacGregor.  "  Or  if  it's  a  good  one,  I'll  name  it  Victoria  Ray, 
which  is  better  than  Miss  Millikens.  It  will  just  be  done  in 
tune  to  teach  that  poor  child  when  you  bring  her  back  to  me," 

"  Hope  wouldn't  be  a  bad  name  for  the  game  we've  all  been 
playing,  and  have  got  to  go  on  playing,"  mumbled  Nevill. 
"  We'll  give  Maieddine  just  tune  to  turn  his  back  on  Touggourt, 
before  we  show  our  noses  there.  Then  you  and  I,  Legs,  will 
engage  horses  and  a  guide." 

"You  deserve  your  name,  Wings,"  said  Stephen.  And  he 
wondered  how  Josette  Soubise  could  hold  out  against  Caird. 
He  wondered  also  what  she  thought  of  this  quest;  for  her 
sister  Jeanne  was  in  the  secret.  No  doubt  she  had  written 
Josette  more  fully  than  Nevill  had,  even  if  he  had  dared  to 
write  at  all.  And  if ,  as  long  ago  as  the  visit  to  Tlemcen,  she  had 
been  slightly  depressed  by  her  friend's  interest  in  another  girl, 
she  must  by  this  time  see  the  affair  in  a  more  serious  light. 
Stephen  was  cruel  enough  to  hope  that  she  was  unhappy. 
He  had  heard  women  say  that  no  cure  for  a  woman's  obstinacy 
was  as  sure  as  jealousy. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  397 

When  they  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  ordered  all  in  the  same 
breath,  a  room  for  a  lady,  two  horses  and  a  guide,  only  the  first 
demand  could  be  granted.  It  would  be  impossible,  said  the 
landlady  and  her  son,  to  produce  horses  on  the  instant.  There 
were  some  to  be  had,  it  was  true,  but  they  had  come  in  after  a 
hard  day's  work,  and  must  have  several  hours'  rest.  The 
gentlemen  might  get  off  at  dawn,  if  they  wished,  but  not  before. 

"  After  all,  it  doesn't  much  matter,"  Nevill  said  to  Stephen. 
"  Even  an  Arab  must  have  some  sleep.  We'll  have  ours  now, 
and  catch  up  with  Maieddine  while  he's  taking  his.  Don't 
worry.  Suppose  the  worst  —  that  he  isn't  really  going  to  Oued 
Tolga.  We  shall  get  on  his  track,  with  an  Arab  guide  to 
pilot  us.  There  are  several  stopping  places  where  we  can 
inquire.  He'll  be  seen  passing  them,  even  if  he  goes  by." 

"  But  you  say  Arabs  never  betray  each  other  to  white  men." 

"This  won't  be  a  question  of  betrayal.  Watch  and  see 
how  ingenuous,  as  well  as  ingenious,  I'll  be  in  all  my  inquiries." 

"I  never  heard  of  Oued  Tolga,"  Stephen  said,  half  to  him- 
self. 

"Don't  confess  that  to  an  Arab.  It  would  be  like  telling 
a  Frenchman  you'd  never  heard  of  Bordeaux.  It's  a  desert 
city,  bigger  than  Touggourt,  I  believe,  and  —  by  Jove,  yes, 
there's  a  tremendously  important  Zaouiia  of  the  same  name. 
Great  marabout  hangs  out  there  —  kind  of  Mussulman  pope 
of  the  desert.  I  hope  to  goodness " 

"What?"  Stephen  asked,  as  Nevill  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  nothing  to  fash  yourself  about,  as  the  twins  would  say. 
Only  —  it  would  be  awkward  if  she's  there.  Harder  to  get 
her  out.  However  —  time  to  cross  the  stile  when  we  come 
to  it." 

But  Stephen  crossed  a  great  many  stiles  with  his  mind  before 
that  darkest  hour  before  the  dawn,  when  he  was  called  to  get 
ready  for  the  last  stage  of  the  journey. 

Lady  MacGregor  was  up  to  see  them  off,  and  never  had  her 
cap  been  more  elaborate,  or  her  hair  been  dressed  more  daintily. 


398  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"You'll  wire  me  from  the  end  of  the  world,  won't  you?" 
she  asked  briskly.  "Paul  and  I  (and  Hamish  and  Angus  if 
necessary)  will  be  ready  to  rush  you  all  three  back  to  civiliza- 
tion the  instant  you  arrive  with  Miss  Ray.  Give  her  my  love. 
Tell  her  I've  brought  clothes  for  her.  They  mayn't  be  what 
she'd  choose,  but  I  dare  say  she  won't  be  sorry  to  see  them.  And 
by  the  way,  if  there  are  telegrams  —  you  know  I  told  the  ser- 
vants to  send  them  on  from  home  —  shall  I  wire  them  on  to 
Oued  Tolga?" 

"No.  We're  tramps,  with  no  address,"  laughed  Nevill. 
"Anything  that  comes  can  wait  till  we  get  back." 

Stephen  could  not  have  told  why,  for  he  was  not  thinking 
of  Margot,  but  suddenly  he  was  convinced  that  a  telegram  from 
her  was  on  the  way,  fixing  the  exact  date  when  she  might  be 
expected  in  England. 


XLIII 

SINCE  the  day  when  Victoria  had  called  Stephen  to 
her  help,  always  she  had  expected  him.  She 
had  great  faith,  for,  in  her  favourite  way,  she  had 
"made  a  picture  of  him,"  riding  up  and  down 
among  the  dunes,  with  the  "knightly"  look  on  his  face  which 
had  first  drawn  her  thoughts  to  him.  Always  her  pictures 
had  materialized  sooner  or  later,  since  she  was  a  little  girl, 
and  had  first  begun  painting  them  with  her  mind,  on  a  golden 
background. 

She  spent  hours  on  the  roof,  with  Saidee  or  alone,  looking 
out  over  the  desert,  through  the  field-glasses  which  Maieddine 
had  sent  to  her.  Very  often  Saidee  would  remain  below,  for 
Victoria's  prayers  were  not  her  prayers,  nor  were  Victoria's 
wishes  her  wishes.  But  invariably  the  older  woman  would 
come  up  to  the  roof  just  before  sunset,  to  feed  the  doves  that 
lived  in  the  minaret. 

At  first  Victoria  had  not  known  that  her  sister  had  any  special 
reason  for  liking  to  feed  the  doves,  but  she  was  an  observant, 
though  not  a  sophisticated  girl ;  and  when  she  had  lived  with 
Saidee  for  a  few  days,  she  saw  birds  of  a  different  colour  among 
the  doves.  It  was  to  those  birds,  she  could  not  help  noticing, 
that  Saidee  devoted  herself.  The  first  that  appeared,  arrived 
suddenly,  while  Victoria  looked  in  another  direction.  But 
when  the  girl  saw  one  alight,  she  guessed  it  had  come  from  a 
distance.  It  fluttered  down  heavily  on  the  roof,  as  if  tired,  and 
Saidee  hid  it  from  Victoria  by  spreading  out  her  skirt  as  sho 
scattered  its  food. 

Then  it  was  easy  to  understand  how  Saidee  and  Captain 

399 


400  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Sabine  had  managed  to  exchange  letters;  but  she  could  not 
bear  to  let  her  sister  know  by  word  or  even  look  that  she  sus- 
pected the  secret.  If  Saidee  wished  to  hide  something  from 
her  she  had  a  right  to  hide  it.  Only  —  it  was  very  sad. 

For  days  neither  of  the  sisters  spoke  of  the  pigeons,  though 
they  came  often,  and  the  girl  could  not  tell  what  plans  might  be 
in  the  making,  unknown  to  her.  She  feared  that,  if  she  had  not 
come  to  Oued  Tolga,  by  this  time  Saidee  would  have  gone  away, 
or  tried  to  go  away,  with  Captain  Sabine;  and  though,  since 
the  night  of  her  arrival,  when  Saidee  had  opened  her  heart, 
they  had  been  on  terms  of  closest  affection,  there  was  a  dread- 
ful doubt  in  Victoria's  mind  that  the  confidences  were  half 
repented.  But  when  the  girl  had  been  rather  more  than  a 
week  in  the  Zaouia,  Saidee  spoke  out. 

"I  suppose  you've  guessed  why  I  come  up  on  the  roof  at 
sunset,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  Victoria  answered. 

"I  thought  so,  by  your  face.  Babe,  if  you'd  accused  me 
of  anything,  or  reproached  me,  I'd  have  brazened  it  out  with 
you.  But  you've  never  said  a  word,  and  your  eyes  — I  don't 
know  what  they've  been  like,  unless  violets  after  rain.  They 
made  me  feel  a  beast  —  a  thousand  times  worse  than  I  would 
if  you'd  put  on  an  injured  air.  Last  night  I  dreamed  that  you 
died  of  grief,  and  I  buried  you  under  the  sand.  But  I  was 
sorry,  and  tore  all  the  sand  away  with  my  fingers  till  I  found 
you  again  —  and  you  were  alive  after  all.  It  seemed  like 
an  allegory.  I'm  going  to  dig  you  up  again,  you  little  loving 
thing!" 

"That  means  you'll  give  me  back  your  confidence,  doesn't 
it?"  Victoria  asked,  smiling  in  a  way  that  would  have  be- 
witched a  man  who  loved  her. 

"Yes;  and  something  else.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  thing 
you'll  like  to  hear.  I've  written  to  him  about  you  —  our 
cypher's  ready  now  —  and  said  that  you'd  had  the  most  curi- 
ous effect  on  me.  I'd  tried  to  resist  you,  but  I  couldn't,  not 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  401 

even  to  please  him  —  or  myself.  I  told  him  I'd  promised  to 
wait  for  you  to  help  me;  and  though  I  didn't  see  what  you  could 
possibly  do,  still,  your  faith  was  contagious.  I  said  that  in 
spite  of  myself  I  felt  some  vague  stirrings  of  hope  now  and  then. 
There !  does  that  please  you  ?  " 

"Oh  Saidee,  I  am  so  happy!"  cried  the  girl,  flinging  both 
arms  round  her  sister.  "Then  I  did  come  at  the  right  time, 
after  all." 

"  The  right  time  to  keep  me  from  happiness  in  this  world,  per- 
haps. That's  the  way  I  feel  about  it  sometimes.  But  I  can't 
be  sorry  you're  here,  Babe,  as  I  was  at  first.  You're 
too  sweet  —  too  like  the  child  who  used  to  be  my  one 
comfort." 

"I  could  almost  die  of  happiness,  when  you  say  that!" 
Victoria  answered,  with  tears  in  her  voice. 

"What  a  baby  you  are!  I'm  sure  you  haven't  much  more 
than  I  have,  to  be  happy  about.  Cassim  has  promised  Ma'ied- 
dine  that  you  shall  marry  him,  whether  you  say  'yes'  or  'no'. 
And  it's  horrible  when  an  Arab  girl  won't  consent  to  marry  the 
man  to  whom  her  people  have  promised  her.  I  know  what 
they  do.  She " 

"Don't  tell  me  about  it.  I'd  hate  to  hear!"  Victoria  broke 
in,  and  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands.  So  Saidee  said  no 
more.  But  in  black  hours  of  the  night,  when  the  girl  could 
not  sleep,  dreadful  imaginings  crept  into  her  mind,  and  it  was 
almost  more  than  she  could  do  to  chase  them  away  by  making 
her  "good  pictures."  " I  won't  be  afraid  —  I  won't,  I  won't!" 
she  would  repeat  to  herself.  "  I've  called  him,  and  my  thoughts 
are  stronger  than  the  carrier  pigeons.  They  fly  faster  and 
farther.  They  travel  like  the  light,  so  they  must  have  got  to 
him  long  ago;  and  he  said  he'd  come,  no  matter  when  or  where. 
By  this  tune  he  is  on  the  way." 

So  she  looked  for  Stephen,  searching  the  desert;  and  at  last, 
one  afternoon  long  before  sunset,  she  saw  a  man  riding  toward 
the  Zaouia  from  the  direction  of  the  city,  far  away.  She  could 


402  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

not  see  his  face,  but  he  seemed  to  be  tall  and  slim;  and  his 
clothes  were  European. 

"Thank  God!"  she  said  to  herself.  For  she  did  not  doubt 
that  it  was  Stephen  Knight. 

Soon  she  would  call  Saidee;  but  she  must  have  a  little  time 
to  herself,  for  silent  rejoicing,  before  she  tried  to  explain. 
There  was  no  great  hurry.  He  was  far  off,  still. 

She  kept  her  eyes  to  Maieddine's  glasses,  and  felt  it  a  strange 
thing  that  they  should  have  come  to  her  from  him.  It  was 
almost  as  if  he  gave  her  to  Stephen,  against  his  will.  She 
was  so  happy  that  she  seemed  to  hear  the  world  singing.  "I 
knew  —  I  knew,  through  it  all ! "  she  told  herself,  with  a  sob  of 
joy  in  her  throat.  "It  had  to  come  right."  And  she  thought 
that  she  could  hear  a  voice  saying :  "  It  is  love  that  has  brought 
him.  He  loves  you,  as  much  as  you  love  him." 

To  her  mind,  especially  in  this  mood,  it  was  not  extraor- 
dinary that  each  should  love  the  other  after  so  short  an  ac- 
quaintance. She  was  even  ready  to  believe  of  herself  that,  un- 
consciously, she  had  fallen  in  love  with  Stephen  the  first  time 
she  met  him  on  the  Channel  boat.  He  had  interested  her. 
She  had  remembered  his  face,  and  had  been  sorry  to  think  that 
she  would  never  see  it  again.  On  the  ship,  going  out  from 
Marseilles,  she  had  been  so  glad  when  he  came  on  deck  that 
her  heart  had  begun  to  beat  quickly.  She  had  scolded  herself  at 
the  time,  for  being  silly,  and  school-girlishly  romantic;  but 
now  she  realized  that  her  soul  had  known  its  mate.  It  could 
scarcely  be  real  love,  she  fancied,  that  was  not  born  in  the 
first  moment,  when  spirit  spoke  to  spirit.  And  her  love  could 
not  have  drawn  a  man  hundreds  of  miles  across  the  desert, 
if  it  had  not  met  and  clasped  hands  with  his  love  for  her. 

"Oh,  how  happy  I  am!"  she  thought.  "And  the  glory  of  it 
is,  that  it's  not  strange  —  only  wonderful.  The  most  wonder- 
ful thing  that  ever  happened  or  could  happen." 

Then  she  remembered  the  sand-divining,  and  how  M'Barka 
had  said  that  "  her  wish  was  far  from  her,  but  that  Allah  would 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  403 

send  a  strong  man,  young  and  dark,  of  another  country  than 
her  own;  a  man  whose  brain,  and  heart,  and  arm  would  be  at 
her  service,  and  in  whom  she  might  trust."  Victoria  recalled 
these  words,  and  did  not  try  to  bring  back  to  her  mind  what 
remained  of  the  prophecy. 

Almost,  she  had  been  foolish  enough  to  be  superstitious,  and 
afraid  of  Mai'eddine's  influence  upon  her  life,  since  that  night; 
and  of  course  she  had  known  that  it  was  of  Maieddine  M'Barka 
had  thought,  whether  she  sincerely  believed  in  her  own  pre- 
dictions or  no.  Now,  it  pleased  Victoria  to  feel  that,  not  only 
had  she  been  foolish,  but  stupid.  She  might  have  been  happy  in 
her  childish  superstition,  instead  of  unhappy,  because  the 
description  of  the  man  applied  to  Stephen  as  well  as  to  Maied- 
dine. 

For  the  moment,  she  did  not  ask  herself  how  Stephen  Knight 
was  going  to  take  her  and  Saidee  away  from  Maieddine  and 
Cassim,  for  she  was  so  sure  he  had  not  come  across  miles  of 
desert  in  vain,  that  she  took  the  rest  for  granted  in  her  first  joy. 
She  was  certain  that  Saidee's  troubles  and  hers  were  over,  and 
that  by  and  by,  like  the  prince  and  princess  in  the  fairy  stories, 
she  and  Stephen  would  be  married  and  "live  happily  ever 
after."  In  these  magic  moments  of  rapture,  while  his  face  and 
figure  grew  more  clear  to  her  eyes,  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that 
love  and  happiness  were  one,  and  that  all  obstacles  had  fallen 
down  in  the  path  of  her  lover,  like  the  walls  of  Jericho  that 
crumbled  at  the  blast  of  the  trumpet. 

When  she  had  looked  through  the  glass  until  she  could  dis- 
tinctly see  Stephen,  and  an  Arab  who  rode  at  a  short  distance 
behind  him,  she  called  her  sister. 

Saidee  came  up  to  the  roof,  almost  at  once,  for  there  was 
a  thrill  of  excitement  in  Victoria's  voice  that  roused  her 
curiosity. 

She  thought  of  Captain  Sabine,  and  wondered  if  he  were 
riding  toward  the  Zaoula.  He  had  come,  before  his  first  en- 
counter with  her,  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  marabout.  That 


404  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

was  long  ago  now,  yet  there  might  be  a  reason,  connected  with 
her,  for  a  second  visit.  But  the  moment  she  saw  Victoria's  face, 
even  before  she  took  the  glasses  the  girl  held  out,  she  guessed 
that,  though  there  was  news,  it  was  not  of  Captain  Sabine. 

"  You  might  have  been  to  heaven  and  back  since  I  saw  you ; 
you're  so  radiant!"  she  said. 

"I  have  been  to  heaven.  But  I  haven't  come  back.  I'm 
there  now,"  Victoria  answered.  "  Look  —  and  tell  me  what  you 
see." 

Saidee  put  the  glasses  to  her  eyes.  "  I  see  a  man  in  European 
clothes,"  she  said.  "I  can  see  that  he's  young.  I  should 
think  he's  a  gentleman,  and  good  looking " 

"Oh,  he  is!"  broke  in  Victoria,  childishly. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I've  been  praying  and  longing  for  him  to  find  me,  and 
save  us.  He's  an  Englishman.  His  name  is  Stephen  Knight. 
He  promised  to  come  if  I  called,  and  I  have.  Oh,  how  I've 
called,  day  and  night,  night  and  day!" 

"You  never  told  me." 

"  I  waited.  Somehow  I  —  couldn't  speak  of  him,  even  to 
you." 

"  I've  told  you  everything." 

"  But  I  had  nothing  to  tell,  really  —  nothing  I  could  have 
put  into  words.  And  you  might  only  have  laughed  if  I'd  said 
'There's  a  man  I  know  in  Algiers  who  hasn't  any  idea  where 
I  am,  but  I  thinkr  he'll  come  here,  and  take  us  both  away.' ' 

"Are  you  engaged  to  each  other?"  Saidee  asked,  curiously, 
even  enviously. 

"Oh  no!    But  — but " 

"  But  what  ?  Do  you  mean  you  will  be  —  if  you  ever  get 
away  from  this  place  ?  " 

"I  hope  so,"  the  girl  answered  bravely,  with  a  deep  blush. 
"  He  has  never  asked  me.  We  haven't  known  each  other  long 
—  a  very  little  while,  only  since  the  night  I  left  London  for 
Paris.  Yet  he's  the  first  man  I  ever  cared  about,  and  I  think 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  405 

of  him  all  the  time.  Perhaps  he  thinks  of  me  in  the  same 
way." 

"  Of  course  he  must,  Babe,  if  he's  really  come  to  search  for 
you,"  Saidee  said,  looking  at  her  young  sister  affectionately. 

"Thank  you  a  hundred  times  for  saying  that,  dearest!  I 
do  hope  so!"  Victoria  exclaimed,  hugging  the  elder  woman 
impulsively,  as  she  used  when  she  was  a  little  child. 

But  Saidee's  joy,  caught  from  her  sister's,  died  down  sud- 
denly, like  a  flame  quenched  with  salt.  "What  good  will  it 
do  you  —  or  us  —  that  he  is  coming  ? "  she  asked  bitterly. 
"He  can  ask  for  the  marabout,  and  perhaps  see  him.  Any 
traveller  can  do  that.  But  he  will  be  no  nearer  to  us,  than  if 
we  were  dead  and  in  our  graves.  Does  Maieddine  know  about 
him  ?" 

"  They  saw  each  other  on  the  ship,  coming  to  Algiers  —  and 
again  just  as  we  landed." 

"But  has  Maieddine  any  idea  that  you  care  about  each 
other?" 

"  I  had  to  tell  him  one  day  in  the  desert  (the  day  Si  Maied- 
dine said  he  loved  me,  and  I  promised  to  consent  if  you  put  my 
hand  in  his)  that  —  that  there  was  a  man  I  loved.  But  I 
didn't  say  who.  Perhaps  he  suspects,  though  I  don't  see  why 
he  should.  I  might  have  meant  some  one  in  America." 

"You  may  be  pretty  sure  he  suspects.  People  of  the  old,  old 
races,  like  the  Arabs,  have  the  most  wonderful  intuitions. 
They  seem  to  know  things  without  being  told.  I  suppose 
they've  kept  nearer  nature  than  more  civilized  peoples." 

"  If  he  does  suspect,  I  can't  help  it." 

"  No.  Only  it's  still  more  sure  that  your  Englishman  won't 
be  able  to  do  us  any  good.  Not  that  he  could,  anyhow." 

"But  Si  MaTeddine's  been  very  ill  since  he  came  back, 
M'Barka  says.  Mr.  Knight  will  ask  for  the  marabout." 

"  Maieddine  will  hear  of  him.  Not  five  Europeans  in  five 
years  come  to  Oued  Tolga.  If  only  Maieddine  hadn't  got 
back!  This  man  may  have  been  following  him,  from  Algiers. 


406  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

It  looks  like  it,  as  Maieddine  arrived  only  yesterday.  Now, 
here's  this  Englishman!  Could  he  have  found  out  in  any 
way,  that  you  were  acquainted  with  Mai'eddine?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  he  might  have  guessed,"  said  Victoria. 
"I  wonder  - 

"  What  ?     Have  you  thought  of  something  ?  " 

"  It's  just  an  idea.  You  know,  I  told  you  that  on  the  jour- 
ney, when  Si  Mai'eddine  was  being  very  kind  to  me  —  before 
I  knew  he  cared  —  I  made  him  a  present  of  the  African  brooch 
you  gave  me  in  Paris.  I  hated  to  take  so  many  favours  of  him, 
and  give  nothing  in  return;  so  I  thought,  as  I  was  on  my  way 
to  you  and  would  soon  see  you,  I  might  part  with  that  brooch, 
which  he  admired.  If  Si  Mai'eddine  wore  it  in  Algiers,  and 
Mr.  Knight  saw " 

"  Would  he  be  likely  to  recognize  it,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  He  noticed  it  on  the  boat,  and  I  told  him  you  gave  it  to  me." 

"  If  he  would  come  all  the  way  from  Algiers  on  the  strength 
of  a  brooch  which  might  have  been  yours,  and  you  might  have 
given  to  Maieddine,  then  he's  a  man  who  knows  what  he  wants, 
and  deserves  to  get  it,"  Saidee  said.  "If  he  could  help  us! 
I  should  feel  rewarded  for  telling  Honore  I  wouldn't  go  with 
him;  because  some  day  I  may  be  free,  and  then  perhaps  I 
shall  be  glad  I  waited " 

"You  will  be  glad.  Whatever  happens,  you'll  be  glad," 
Victoria  insisted. 

"  Maybe.  But  now  —  what  are  we  to  do  ?  We  can  see  him, 
and  you  can  recognize  him  with  the  field-glass,  but  unless  he  has 
a  glass  too,  he  can't  see  who  you  are  —  he  can't  see  at  all, 
because  by  the  time  he  rides  near  enough,  the  ground  dips 
down  so  that  even  our  heads  will  be  hidden  from  him  by  the 
wall  round  the  roof.  And  he'll  be  hidden  from  us,  too.  If  he 
asks  for  you,  he'll  be  answered  only  by  stares  of  surprise. 
Cassim  will  pretend  not  to  know  what  he's  talking  about. 
And  presently  he'll  have  to  go  away  without  finding  out  any- 
thing." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  407 

"He'll  come  back,"  said  Victoria,  firmly.  But  her  eyes 
were  not  as  bright  with  the  certainty  of  happiness  as  they  had 
been. 

"  What  if  he  does  ?  Or  it  may  be  that  he'll  try  to  come  back, 
and  an  accident  will  happen  to  him.  I  hate  to  frighten  you. 
But  Arabs  are  jealous  —  and  Mai'eddine's  a  true  Arab.  He 
looks  upon  you  almost  as  his  wife  now.  In  a  week  or  two  you 
will  be,  unless 

"Yes.  Unless — unless!"  echoed  Victoria.  "Don't  lose 
hope,  Saidee,  for  I  shan't.  Let's  think  of  something  to  do. 
He's  near  enough  now,  maybe,  to  notice  if  we  wave  our  hand- 
kerchiefs." 

"Many  women  on  roofs  in  Africa  wave  to  men  who  will 
never  see  their  faces.  He  won't  know  who  waves." 

"  He  will  feel.  Besides,  he's  searching  for  me.  At  this  very 
minute,  perhaps,  he's  thinking  of  the  golden  silence  I  talked 
about,  and  looking  up  to  the  white  roofs." 

Instantly  they  began  to  wave  their  handkerchiefs  of  embroid- 
ered silk,  such  as  Arab  ladies  use.  But  there  came  no  answer- 
ing signal.  Evidently,  if  the  rider  were  looking  at  a  white  roof, 
he  had  chosen  one  which  was  not  theirs.  And  soon  he  would 
be  descending  the  slope  of  the  Zaouiia  hill.  After  that  they 
would  lose  sight  of  each  other,  more  and  more  surely,  the  closer 
he  came  to  the  gates. 

"If  only  you  had  something  to  throw  him!"  Saidee  sighed. 
"What  a  pity  you  gave  the  brooch  to  Mai'eddine.  He  might 
have  recognized  that." 

"It  isn't  a  pity  if  he  traced  me  by  it,"  said  Victoria.  "But 
wait.  I'll  think  of  something." 

"  He's  riding  down  the  dip.  In  a  minute  it  will  be  too  late," 
Saidee  warned  her. 

The  girl  lifted  over  her  head  the  long  string  of  amber  beads 
she  had  bought  in  the  curiosity  shop  of  Jeanne  Soubise.  Wrap- 
ping it  in  her  handkerchief,  she  began  to  tie  the  silken  ends  to- 
gether. 


408  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE     . 

Stephen  was  so  close  to  the  Zaouia  now  that  fliey  could  no 
longer  see  him. 

"  Throw  —  throw !    He'll  be  at  the  gates." 

Victoria  threw  the  small  but  heavy  parcel  over  the  wall  which 
hid  the  dwellers  on  the  roof. 

Where  it  fell,  they  could  not  see,  and  no  sound  came  up 
from  the  sand-dune  far  below.  Some  beggar  or  servant  of  the 
Zaouia  might  have  found  and  snatched  the  packet,  for  all  that 
they  could  tell. 

For  a  time  which  seemed  long,  they  waited,  hoping  that  some- 
thing would  happen.  They  did  not  speak  at  all.  Each  heard 
her  own  heart  beating,  and  imagined  that  she  could  hear  the 
heart  of  the  other. 

At  last  there  were  steps  on  the  stairs  which  led  from  Saidee's 
rooms  to  the  roof.  Noura  came  up.  "  O  twin  stars,  forgive 
me  for  darkening  the  brightness  of  thy  sky,"  she  said,  "but  I 
have  here  a  letter,  given  to  me  to  put  into  the  hands  of  Leila 
Saida." 

She  held  out  a  folded  bit  of  paper,  that  had  no  envelope. 

Saidee,  pale  and  large-eyed,  took  it  in  silence.  She  read, 
and  then  handed  the  paper  to  Victoria. 

A  few  lines  were  scrawled  on  it  in  English,  in  a  very  foreign 
handwriting.  The  language,  known  to  none  in  this  house  ex- 
cept the  marabout,  Maieddine,  Saidee  and  Victoria,  was  as 
safe  as  a  cypher,  therefore  no  envelope  had  been  needed. 

"  Descend  into  thy  garden  immediately,  and  bring  with  thee 
thy  sister,"  the  letter  said.  And  it  was  signed  "Thy  husband, 
Mohammed." 

"What  can  it  mean?"  asked  Victoria,  giving  back  the  paper 
to  Saidee. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  we  shall  soon  see  —  for  we  must  obey. 
If  we  didn't  go  down  of  our  own  accord,  we'd  soon  be  forced 
to  go." 

"Perhaps  Cassim  will  let  me  talk  to  Mr.  Knight,"  said  the 
girl. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  409 

"He  is  more  likely  to  throw  you  to  his  lion,  in  the  court," 
Saidee  answered,  with  a  laugh. 

They  went  down  into  the  garden,  and  remained  there  alone. 
Nothing  happened  except  that,  after  a  while,  they  heard  a 
noise  of  pounding.  It  seemed  to  come  from  above,  in  Saidee's 
rooms. 

Listening  intently,  her  eyes  flashed,  and  a  bright  colour  rushed 
to  her  cheeks. 

"Now  I  know  why  we  were  told  to  come  into  the  garden!" 
she  exclaimed,  her  voice  quivering  with  anger.  "  They're  nail- 
ing up  the  door  of  my  room  that  leads  to  the  roof ! " 

"  Saidee!  "  To  Victoria  the  thing  seemed  too  monstrous  to 
believe. 

"  Cassim  threatened  to  do  it  once  before  —  a  long  time  ago  — 
but  he  didn't.  Now  he  has.  That's  his  answer  to  your  Mr. 
Knight." 

"Perhaps  you're  wrong.  How  could  any  one  have  got  into 
your  rooms  without  our  seeing  them  pass  through  the  garden  ?  " 

"  I've  always  thought  there  was  a  sliding  door  at  the  back  of 
one  of  my  wall  cupboards.  There  generally  is  one  leading 
into  the  harem  rooms  in  old  houses  like  this.  Thank  goodness 
I've  hidden  my  diaries  in  a  new  place  lately! " 

"  Let's  go  up  and  make  sure,"  whispered  Victoria. 

Still  the  pounding  went  on. 

"They'll  have  locked  us  out." 

"We  can  try." 

Victoria  went  ahead,  running  quickly  up  the  steep,  narrow 
flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  upper  rooms  which  she  and  Saidee 
shared.  Saidee  had  been  right.  The  door  of  the  outer  room 
was  locked.  Standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  the  pounding 
sounded  much  louder  than  before. 

Saidee  laughed  faintly  and  bitterly. 

"They're  determined  to  make  a  good  job  of  it,"  she  said. 


XLIV 

STEPHEN  rode  back  with  his  Arab  companion,  to  the 
desert  city  where  Nevill  waited.     He  had    gone    to 
the  Zaoui'a     alone     with    the    guide,  because  Nevill 
had    thought   it  well,    in    case  of  emergencies,  that 
he  should  be  able  to  say :  "  I  have  a  friend  in  Oued  Tolga  who 
knows  where  I  am,  and  is  expecting  me."     Now  he  was  coming 
away,  thwarted  for  the  moment,  but  far  from  hopeless. 

It  is  a  four  hours'  ride  among  the  dunes,  between  the  Zaoui'a 
and  the  town,  for  the  sand  is  heavy  and  the  distance  is  about 
seventeen  miles.  The  red  wine  of  sunset  was  drained  from 
the  cups  of  the  sand-hollows,  and  the  shadows  were  cool  when 
Stephen  saw  the  minaret  of  the  town  mosque  and  the  crown  of 
an  old  watch-tower,  pointing  up  like  a  thumb  and  ringer  of  a 
buried  hand.  Soon  after,  he  passed  through  the  belt  of  black 
tents  which  at  all  seasons  encircles  Oued  Tolga  as  a  girdle 
encircles  the  waist  of  an  Ouled  Nail,  and  so  he  rode  into  the 
strange  city.  The  houses  were  crowded  together,  two  with  one 
wall  between,  like  Siamese  twins,  and  they  had  the  pale  yellow- 
brown  colour  of  honeycomb,  in  the  evening  light.  The  rough- 
ness of  the  old,  old  bricks,  made  of  baked  sand,  gave  an  effect 
of  many  little  cells,  so  that  the  honeycomb  effect  was  inten- 
sified ;  and  the  sand  which  flowed  in  small  rippling  waves  round 
the  city,  and  through  streets  narrow  and  broad,  was  of  the  same 
honey -yellow  as  the  houses,  except  that  it  glittered  with  gypsum 
under  the  kindling  stars.  Among  the  bubbly  domes,  and  low 
square  towers,  vague  in  the  dimming  light,  bunches  of  palms 
in  hidden  gardens  nodded  over  crumbling  walls,  like  dark 
plumes  on  the  crowns  of  the  dancing-women. 

410 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  411 

In  the  market-place  was  the  little  hotel,  newly  built;  the  only 
French  thing  in  Oued  Tolga,  except  the  military  barracks,  the 
Bureau  Arabe,  and  a  gurgling  artesian  well  which  a  French 
officer  had  lately  completed.  But  before  Stephen  could  reach 
the  market-place  and  the  hotel,  he  had  to  pass  through  the 
quarter  of  the  dancing-girls. 

It  was  a  narrow  street,  which  had  low  houses  on  either  side, 
with  a  balcony  for  every  mean  window.  Dark  women  leaned 
their  elbows  on  the  palm-wood  railings,  and  looked  down, 
smoking  cigarettes,  and  calling  across  to  each  other.  Other 
girls  sat  in  lighted  doorways  below,  each  with  a  candle  guttering 
on  a  steep  step  of  her  bare  staircase;  and  in  the  street  walked 
silent  men  with  black  or  brown  faces,  whose  white  burnouses 
flowed  round  their  tall  figures  like  blowing  clouds.  Among 
them  were  a  few  soldiers,  whose  uniforms  glowed  red  in  the 
twilight,  like  the  cigarette  ends  pulsing  between  the  painted 
lips  of  the  Ouled  Nails.  All  that  quarter  reeked  with  the 
sweet,  wicked  smell  of  the  East;  and  in  the  Moorish  cafe  at 
the  far  end,  the  dancing-music  had  begun  to  throb  and  whine, 
mingling  cries  of  love  and  death,  with  the  passion  of  both. 
But  there  was  no  dancing  yet,  for  the  audience  was  not  large 
enough.  The  brilliant  spiders  crouched  in  their  webs,  await- 
ing more  flies ;  for  caravans  were  coming  in  across  that  desert  sea 
which  poured  its  yellow  billows  into  the  narrow  street;  and  in 
the  market-place,  camel-drivers  only  just  arrived  were  cooking 
their  suppers.  They  would  all  come  a  little  later  into  this 
quarter  to  drink  many  cups  of  coffee,  and  to  spend  their  money 
on  the  dancers. 

As  Stephen  went  by  on  horseback,  the  girls  on  the  balconies 
and  in  the  doorways  looked  at  him  steadily  without  smiling, 
but  their  eyes  sparkled  under  their  golden  crowns,  or  scarlet 
headkerchiefs  and  glittering  veils.  Behind  him  and  his  guide, 
followed  a  procession  of  boys  and  old  men,  with  donkeys 
loaded  with  dead  palm-branches  from  the  neighbouring  oasis, 
and  the  dry  fronds  made  a  loud  swishing  sound;  but  the  dancers 


412  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

paid  no  attention,  and  appeared  to  look  through  the  old  men 
and  children  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

In  the  market-place  were  the  tired  camels,  kneeling  down, 
looking  gloomily  at  their  masters  busy  cooking  supper  on  the 
sand.  Negro  sellers  of  fruit  and  fly-embroidered  lumps  of 
meat,  or  brilliant-coloured  pottery,  and  cheap,  bright  stuffs, 
were  rolling  up  their  wares  for  the  night,  in  red  and  purple 
rags  or  tattered  matting.  Beggars  lingered,  hoping  for  a 
stray  dried  date,  or  a  coin  before  crawling  off  to  secret  dens; 
and  two  deformed  dwarfs  in  enormous  turbans  and  blue  coats, 
claimed  power  as  marabouts,  chanting  their  own  praises  and 
the  praises  of  Allah,  in  high,  cracked  voices. 

As  Stephen  rode  to  the  hotel,  and  stopped  in  front  of  the 
arcade  which  shaded  the  ground  floor,  Nevill  and  another 
man  sprang  up  from  chairs  pushed  back  against  the  white 
house-wall. 

"By  Jove,  Legs,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  Nevill  exclaimed, 
heartily,  "  What  news  ?  " 

"Nothing  very  great  so  far,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  Much  as  we 
expected,"  Stephen  answered.  And  as  he  spoke,  he  glanced 
at  the  stranger,  as  if  surprised  that  Nevill  should  speak  out 
before  him.  The  man  wore  the  smart  uniform  of  the  Chas- 
seurs d'Afrique.  He  was  quite  young,  not  over  thirty-four, 
and  had  a  keen,  brave  face,  as  Stephen  could  see  by  the  crude 
light  of  a  lamp  that  was  fixed  in  the  wall.  But  the  large  grey 
eyes,  somewhat  pale  in  contrast  with  deep  sunburn,  were  the 
eyes  of  a  poet  rather  than  those  of  a  born  soldier. 

"I  must  introduce  you  and  Captain  Sabine  to  each  other," 
Nevill  went  on,  in  French,  as  Stephen  got  off  his  horse  and  it 
was  led  away  by  the  Arab.  "He's  staying  at  the  hotel.  He 
and  I've  been  talking  about  the  Zaou'ia  and  —  the  marabout. 
The  upshot  of  our  conversation  will  astonish  you.  I  feel  sure, 
when  you  hear  it,  you  will  think  we  can  talk  freely  about  our 
business  to  Captain  Sabine." 

Stephen  said  something  polite  and  vague.     He  was  interested, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  413 

of  course,  but  would  have  preferred  to  tell  his  adventure  to 
Nevill  alone. 

"Monsieur  Caird  and  I  made  acquaintance,  and  have  been 
chatting  all  the  afternoon,"  volunteered  Sabine.  "To  begin 
with,  we  find  we  have  many  friends  in  common,  in  Algiers. 
Also  he  knows  relations  of  mine,  who  have  spoken  of  me  to  him, 
so  it  is  almost  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  longer.  He 
tells  me  that  you  and  he  are  searching  for  a  young  lady  who 
has  disappeared.  That  you  have  followed  here  a  man  who 
must  know  where  she  is;  that  in  the  city,  you  lost  track  of  the 
man  but  heard  he  had  gone  on  to  the  Zaouia;  that  this  made 
you  hope  the  young  lady  was  there  with  her  sister,  whose  husband 
might  perhaps  have  some  position  under  the  marabout." 

"I  told  him  these  things,  because  I  thought,  as  Captain 
Sabine's  been  sinking  an  artesian  well  near  the  Zaouia,  he 
might  have  seen  Miss  Ray,  if  she  were  there.  No  such  luck. 
He  hasn't  seen  her;  however,  he's  given  me  a  piece  of  informa- 
tion which  makes  it  just  about  as  sure  she  is  there,  as  if  he  had. 
You  shall  have  it  from  him.  But  first  let  me  ask  you  one 
question.  Did  you  get  any  news  of  her  ?  " 

"No.     I  heard  nothing." 

"Does  that  mean  you  saw " 

"No.  I'll  tell  you  later.  But  anyhow,  I  went  into  the 
Zaouia,  almost  certain  she  was  there,  and  that  she'd  seen  me 
coming.  That  was  a  good  start,  because  of  course  I'd  had  very 
little  to  go  on.  There  was  only  a  vague  hope.  I  asked  for  the 
marabout,  and  they  made  me  send  a  visiting-card  —  quaint 
in  the  desert.  Then  they  kept  me  moving  about  a  while,  and 
insisted  on  showing  me  the  mosque.  At  last  they  took  me  to 
a  hideous  reception  room,  with  a  lot  of  good  and  vile  things  in 
it,  mixed  up  together.  The  marabout  came  in,  wearing  the 
black  mask  we'd  heard  about  —  a  fellow  with  a  splendid  bear- 
ing, and  fine  eyes  that  looked  at  me  very  hard  over  the  mask. 
They  were  never  off  my  face.  We  complimented  each  other 
in  French.  Then  I  said  I  was  looking  for  a  Miss  Ray,  an 


414  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

American  girl  who  had  disappeared  from  Algiers,  and  had  been 
traced  to  the  Zaoui'a,  where  I  had  reason  to  believe  she  was 
staying  with  a  relative  from  her  own  country,  a  lady  married 
to  some  member  of  his  staff.  I  couldn't  give  him  the  best 
reason  I  had  for  being  sure  she  was  there,  as  you'll  see  when  I 
tell  you  what  it  was.  But  he  said  gravely  that  no  European 
lady  was  married  to  any  one  in  the  Zaouia;  that  no  American 
or  any  other  foreign  person,  male  or  female,  was  there.  In 
the  guest-house  were  one  or  two  Arab  ladies,  he  admitted,  who 
had  come  to  be  cured  of  maladies  by  virtue  of  his  power;  but 
no  one  else.  His  denial  showed  me  that  he  was  in  the  plot  to 
hide  Miss  Ray.  That  was  one  thing  I  wanted  to  know;  so 
I  saw  that  the  best  thing  for  her,  would  be  for  me  to  pretend 
to  be  satisfied.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  what  happened  before 
I  got  to  the  Zaouia  gates,  I  should  almost  have  been  taken  in 
by  him,  perhaps,  he  had  such  an  air  of  noble,  impeccable 
sincerity.  But  just  as  I  dipped  down  into  a  kind  of  hollow, 
on  the  Zaouia  side  of  the  river,  something  was  thrown  from 
somewhere.  Unluckily  I  couldn't  be  sure  where.  I'd  been 
looking  up  at  the  roofs  behind  the  walls,  but  I  must  have  had 
my  eyes  on  the  wrong  one,  if  this  thing  fell  from  a  roof,  as  I 
believe  it  did.  It  was  a  little  bundle,  done  up  in  a  handker- 
chief, and  I  saw  it  only  as  it  touched  the  ground,  about  a  dozen 
yards  in  front.  Then  I  hurried  on,  you  may  be  sure,  hoping 
it  was  meant  for  me,  to  grab  the  thing  before  any  one  else  could 
appear  and  lay  hands  on  it." 

"Well?" 

"Luckily  I'd  outridden  the  guide.  I  made  him  think  after- 
ward that  I'd  jumped  off  my  horse  to  pick  up  the  whip,  which 
I  dropped  for  a  blind,  in  case  of  spying  eyes.  Tied  up  in  the 
silk  handkerchief  —  an  Arab-looking  handkerchief  —  was  a 
string  of  amber  beads.  Do  you  remember  the  beads  Miss  Ray 
bought  of  Miss  Soubise,  and  wore  to  your  house  ?" 

"I  remember  she  had  a  handsome  string  of  old  prayer-beads." 

"Is  this  the  one?"  Stephen  tctok  the  handkerchief  and  its 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  415 

contents  from  his  pocket,  and  Nevill  examined  the  large, 
round  lumps  of  gleaming  amber,  which  were  somewhat  irregular 
in  shape.  Captain  Sabine  looked  on  with  interest. 

"I  can't  be  sure,"  Nevill  said  reluctantly. 

"Well,  I  can,"  Stephen  answered  with  confidence.  "She 
showed  it  to  me,  in  your  garden.  I  remember  a  fly  in  the 
biggest  bead,  which  was  clear,  with  a  brown  spot,  and  a  clouded 
bead  on  either  side  of  it.  I  had  the  necklace  in  my  hand. 
Besides,  even  if  I  weren't  as  certain  as  I  am,  who  would  throw 
a  string  of  amber  beads  at  my  feet,  if  it  weren't  some  one 
trying  to  attract  my  attention,  in  the  only  way  possible?  It 
was  as  much  as  to  say,  'I  know  you've  come  looking  for  me. 
If  you're  told  I'm  not  here,  it's  false.'  I  was  a  good  long  way 
from  the  gates ;  but  much  nearer  to  a  lot  of  white  roofs  grouped 
behind  the  high  wall  of  the  Zaou'ia,  than  I  would  have  been 
in  riding  on,  closer  to  the  gates.  Unfortunately  there  are  high 
parapets  to  screen  any  one  standing  on  the  roofs.  And  any- 
how, by  the  time  the  beads  were  thrown,  I  was  too  low  down 
in  the  hollow  to  see  even  a  waved  hand  or  handkerchief.  Still, 
with  that  necklace  in  my  pocket,  I  knew  pretty  well  what  I 
was  about,  in  talking  with  the  marabout." 

"You  thought  you  did,"  said  Nevill.  "But  you'd  have 
known  a  lot  more  if  only  you  could  have  made  Captain  Sa- 
bine's  acquaintance  before  you  started." 

Stephen  looked  questioningly  at  the  Frenchman. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  speak  in  English,"  suggested 
Sabine.  "I  have  not  much,  but  I  get  on.  And  the  kitchen 
windows  are  not  far  away.  Our  good  landlord  and  his  wife  do 
not  cook  with  their  ears.  I  was  telling  your  friend  that  the 
marabout  himself  has  a  European  wife  —  who  is  said  to  be  a 
great  beauty.  These  things  get  out.  I  have  heard  that  she 
has  red  hair  and  skin  as  white  as  cream.  That  is  also  the 
description  which  Mr.  Caird  gave  me  of  the  young  lady  seeking 
a  sister.  It  makes  one  put  two  and  two  together,  does  it  not  ?" 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Stephen.     He  and  Nevill  looked  at 


416  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

each  other,  but  Nevill  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly.  He  had 
not  thought  it  best,  at  present,  to  give  the  mystery  of  Cassim 
ben  Halim,  as  he  now  deciphered  it,  into  a  French  officer's 
keeping.  It  was  a  secret  in  which  France  would  be  deeply, 
perhaps  inconveniently,  interested.  A  little  later,  the  inter- 
ference of  the  French  might  be  welcome,  but  it  would  be  just 
as  well  not  to  bring  it  in  prematurely,  or  separately  from  their 
own  personal  interests.  "I  wish  to  heaven,"  Stephen  went  on, 
"I'd  known  this  when  I  was  talking  to  the  fellow!  And  yet  — 
I'm  not  sure  it  would  have  made  much  difference.  We  were 
deadly  polite  to  each  other,  but  I  hinted  in  a  veiled  way  that, 
if  he  were  concealing  any  secret  from  me,  the  French  authorities 
might  have  something  to  say  to  him.  I  was  obsequious  about 
the  great  power  of  Islam  in  general,  and  his  in  particular,  but  I 
suggested  that  France  was  the  upper  dog  just  now.  Maybe  his 
guilty  conscience  made  him  think  I  knew  more  than  I  did.  I 
hope  he  expects  to  have  the  whole  power  of  France  down  on 
him,  as  well  as  the  United  States,  which  I  waved  over  his  head, 
Miss  Ray  being  an  American.  Of  course  I  remembered  your 
advice,  Nevill,  and  was  tactful  —  for  her  sake,  for  fear  anything 
should  be  visited  on  her.  I  didn't  say  I  thought  he  was  hiding 
her  in  the  Zaoui'a.  I  put  it  as  if  I  wanted  his  help  in  finding 
her.  But  naturally  he  expects  me  back  again;  and  we  must 
make  our  plans  to  storm  the  fortress  and  reduce  it  to  sub- 
jection. There  isn't  an  hour  to  waste,  either,  since  this  neck- 
lace, and  Captain  Sabine's  knowledge,  have  proved  to  us 
that  she's  there.  Too  bad  we  didn't  know  it  earlier,  as  we 
might  have  done  something  decisive  in  the  beginning.  But 
now  we  do  know,  with  Captain  Sabine's  good  will  and  intro- 
duction we  may  get  the  military  element  here  to  lend  a  hand  in 
the  negotiations.  A  European  girl  can't  be  shut  up  with 
impunity,  I  should  think,  even  in  this  part  of  the  world.  And 
the  marabout  has  every  reason  not  to  get  in  the  bad  books  of 
the  French." 

"He  is  in  their  very  best  books  at  present,"  said  Sabine. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  417 

"He  is  thought  much  of.  The  peace  of  the  southern  desert 
is  largely  in  his  hands.  My  country  would  not  be  easily  per- 
suaded to  offend  him.  It  might  be  said  in  his  defence  that  he 
is  not  compelled  to  tell  strangers  if  he  has  a  European  wife,  and 
her  sister  arrives  to  pay  her  a  visit.  Arab  ideas  are  peculiar; 
and  we  have  to  respect  them." 

"I  think  my  friend  and  I  must  talk  the  whole  matter  over," 
said  Stephen,  "and  then,  perhaps,  we  can  make  up  our  minds  to 
a  plan  of  action  we  couldn't  have  taken  if  it  weren't  for  what 
you've  told  us  —  about  the  marabout  and  his  European  wife." 

"I  am  glad  if  I  have  helped,"  Sabine  answered.  "And" 
—  rather  wistfully  —  "I  should  like  to  help  further." 


XLV 

OH  LELLA  SAlDA,  there  is  a  message,  of  which  I 
hardly  dare  to  speak,"  whispered  Noura  to  her  mis- 
tress, when  she  brought  supper  for  the  two  sisters,  the 
night  when  the  way  to  the  roof  had  been  closed  up. 

"Tell  me  what  it  is,  and  do  not  be  foolish,"  Saidee  said 
sharply.  Her  nerves  were  keyed  to  the  breaking  point,  and 
she  had  no  patience  left.  It  was  almost  a  pleasure  to  visit 
her  misery  upon  some  one  else.  She  hated  everybody  and 
everything,  because  all  hope  was  gone  now.  The  door  to  the 
roof  was  nailed  shut;  and  she  and  Victoria  were  buried  alive. 

"But  one  sends  the  message  who  must  not  be  named;  and 
it  is  not  even  for  thee,  lady.  It  is  for  the  Little  Rose,  thy  sister." 

"If  thou  dost  not  speak  out  instantly,  I  will  strike  thee!" 
Saidee  exclaimed,  on  the  verge  of  hysterical  tears. 

"And  if  I  speak,  still  thou  wilt  strike!  Be  this  upon  thine 
own  head,  my  mistress.  The  Ouled  Nail  has  dared  send  her 
woman,  saying  that  if  the  Little  Rose  will  visit  her  house  after 
supper,  it  will  be  for  the  good  of  all  concerned,  since  she  has 
a  thing  to  tell  of  great  importance.  At  first  I  would  have 
refused  even  to  take  the  message,  but  her  woman,  Hadda,  is 
my  cousin,  and  she  feared  to  go  back  without  some  answer. 
The  Ouled  Nafl  is  a  demon  when  in  a  temper,  and  she  would 
thrust  pins  into  Hadda's  arms  and  thighs." 

Saidee  blushed  with  anger,  disgustful  words  tingling  on 
her  tongue;  but  she  remained  silent,  her  lips  parted. 

"Of  course  I  won't  go,"  said  Victoria,  shocked.  The  very 
existence  of  Miluda  was  to  her  a  dreadful  mystery  upon  which 
she  could  not  bear  to  let  her  mind  dwell. 

418 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  419 

"I'm  not  sure,"  Saidee  murmured.  "Let  me  think.  This 
means  something  very  curious,  I  can't  think  what.  But  I 
should  like  to  know.  It  can't  make  things  worse  for  us  if  you 
accept  her  invitation.  It  may  make  them  better.  Will  you 
go  and  see  what  the  creature  wants  ?" 

"Oh,  Saidee,  how  can  I?" 

"Because  I  ask  it,"  Saidee  answered,  the  girl's  opposition 
deciding  her  doubts.  "She  can't  eat  you." 

"It  isn't  that  I'm  afraid " 

"I  know!  It's  because  of  your  loyalty  to  me.  But  if  I 
send  you,  Babe,  you  needn't  mind.  It  will  be  for  my  sake." 

"Hadda  is  waiting  for  an  answer,"  Noura  hinted. 

"My  sister  will  go.     Is  the  woman  ready  to  take  her?" 

"I  will  find  out,  lady." 

In  a  moment  the  negress  came  back.  "Hadda  will  lead  the 
Little  Rose  to  her  mistress.  She  is  glad  that  it  is  to  be  now, 
and  not  later." 

"Be  very  careful  what  you  say,  and  forget  nothing  that  she 
says,"  was  Saidee's  last  advice.  And  it  sounded  very  Eastern 
to  Victoria. 

She  hated  her  errand,  but  undertook  it  without  further 
protest,  since  it  was  for  Saidee's  sake. 

Hadda  was  old  and  ugly.  She  and  Noura  had  been  born 
in  the  quarter  of  the  freed  Negroes,  in  the  village  across  the 
river,  and  knew  nothing  of  any  world  beyond;  yet  all  the 
wiliness  and  wisdom  of  female  things,  since  Eve  —  woman, 
eat  and  snake  —  glittered  under  their  slanting  eyelids. 

Victoria  had  not  been  out  of  her  sister's  rooms  and  garden, 
except  to  visit  M'Barka  in  the  women's  guest-house,  since 
the  night  when  Mai'eddine  brought  her  to  the  ZaouTa;  and 
when  she  had  time  to  think  of  her  bodily  needs,  she  realized 
that  she  longed  desperately  for  exercise.  Physically  it  was  a 
relief  to  walk  even  the  short  distance  between  Saidee's  house 
and  Miluda's;  but  her  cheeks  tingled  with  some  emotion 
she  could  hardly  understand  when  she  saw  that  the  Ouled 


420  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Nail's  garden-court  was  larger  and  more  beautiful  than 
Saidee's. 

Miluda,  however,  was  not  waiting  for  her  in  the  garden. 
The  girl  was  escorted  upstairs,  perhaps  to  show  her  how 
much  more  important  was  the  favourite  wife  of  the  marabout 
than  a  mere  Roumia,  an  unmarried  maiden. 

A  meal  had  been  cleared  away,  in  a  room  larger  and  better 
furnished  than  Saidee's  and  on  the  floor  stood  a  large  copper 
incense-burner,  a  thin  blue  smoke  filtering  through  the  perfora- 
tions, clouding  the  atmosphere  and  loading  it  with  heavy 
perfume.  Behind  the  mist  Victoria  saw  a  divan,  spread  with 
trailing  folds  of  purple  velvet,  stamped  with  gold;  and  some- 
thing lay  curled  up  on  a  huge  tiger-skin,  flung  over  pillows. 

As  the  blue  incense  wreaths  floated  aside  the  curled  thing 
on  the  tiger  skin  moved,  and  the  light  from  a  copper  lamp 
like  Saidee's,  streamed  through  huge  coloured  lumps  of  glass, 
into  a  pair  of  brilliant  eyes.  A  delicate  brown  hand,  ringed 
on  each  finger,  waved  away  the  smoke  of  a  cigarette  it  held, 
and  Victoria  saw  a  small  face,  which  was  like  the  face  of  a 
perfectly  beautiful  doll.  Never  had  she  imagined  anything 
so  utterly  pagan;  yet  the  creature  was  childlike,  even  inno- 
cent in  its  expression,  as  a  baby  tigress  might  be  innocent. 

Having  sat  up,  the  little  heathen  goddess  squatted  in  her 
shrine,  only  bestirring  herself  to  show  the  Roumia  how  beauti- 
ful she  was,  and  what  wonderful  jewellery  she  had.  She 
thought,  that  without  doubt,  the  girl  would  run  back  jealous- 
ly to  the  sister  (whom  Miluda  despised)  to  pour  out  floods  of 
description.  She  herself  had  heard  much  of  Leila  Sai'da, 
and  supposed  that  unfortunate  woman  had  as  eagerly  col- 
lected information  about  her;  but  it  was  especially  piquant 
that  further  details  of  enviable  magnificence  should  be  carried 
back  by  the  forlorn  wife's  sister. 

The  Ouled  Nail  tinkled  at  the  slightest  movement,  even 
with  the  heaving  of  her  bosom,  as  she  breathed,  making  music 
with  many  necklaces,  and  long  earrings  that  clinked  against 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  421 

them.  Dozens  of  old  silver  cases,  tubes,  and  little  jewelled 
boxes  containing  holy  relics;  hairs  of  Mohammed's  beard; 
a  bit  of  web  spun  by  the  sacred  spider  which  saved  his  life; 
moles'  feet  blessed  by  marabouts,  and  texts  from  the  Koran; 
all  these  hung  over  Miluda's  breast,  on  chains  of  turquoise 
and  amber  beads.  They  rattled  metallically,  and  her  brace- 
lets and  anklets  tinkled.  Some  luscious  perfume  hung  about 
her,  intoxicatingly  sweet.  A  thick,  braided  clump  of  hair  was 
looped  on  each  side  of  the  small  face  painted  white  as  ivory, 
and  her  eyes,  under  lashes  half  an  inch  long,  were  bright  and 
unhuman  as  those  of  an  untamed  gazelle. 

"Wilt  thou  sit  down?"  she  asked,  waving  the  hand  with 
the  cigarette  towards  a  French  chair,  upholstered  in  red  bro- 
cade. "The  Sidi  gave  me  that  seat  because  I  asked  for  it. 
He  gives  me  all  I  ask  for." 

"I  will  stand,"  answered  Victoria. 

"Oh,  it  is  true,  then,  thou  speakest  Arab!  I  had  heard  so. 
I  have  heard  much  of  thee  and  of  thy  youth  and  beauty.  I 
see  that  my  women  did  not  lie.  But  perhaps  thou  art  not  as 
young  as  I  am,  though  I  have  been  a  wife  for  a  year,  and  have 
borne  a  beautiful  babe.  I  am  not  yet  sixteen." 

Victoria  did  not  answer,  and  the  Ouled  Nail  gazed  at  her 
unwinkingly,  as  a  child  gazes. 

"Thou  hast  travelled  much,  even  more  than  the  marabout 
himself,  hast  thou  not?"  she  inquired,  graciously.  "I  have 
heard  that  thou  hast  been  to  England.  Are  there  many 
Arab  villages  there,  and  is  it  true  that  the  King  was 
deposed  when  the  Sultan,  the  head  of  our  faith,  lost  his 
throne?" 

"There  are  no  Arab  villages,  and  the  King  still  reigns." 
said  Victoria.  "But  I  think  thou  didst  not  send  for  me  to 
ask  these  questions?" 

"Thou  art  right.  Yet  there  is  no  harm  in  asking  them. 
I  sent  for  thee,  for  three  reasons.  One  is,  that  I  wished  to  see 
thee,  to  know  if  indeed  thou  wert  as  beautiful  as  I;  another 


422  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

is,  that  I  had  a  thing  to  give  thee,  and  before  I  tell  thee  my 
third  reason,  thou  shalt  have  the  gift." 

She  fumbled  in  the  tawny  folds  of  the  tiger-skin  on  which 
she  lay,  and  presently  held  out  a  bracelet,  made  of 
flexible  squares  of  gold,  like  scales,  jewelled  with  different 
stones. 

"It  is  thy  wedding  present  from  me,"  she  said.  "I  wish 
to  give  it,  because  it  is  not  long  since  I  myself  was  married, 
and  because  we  are  both  young.  Besides,  Si  Maleddine  is  a 
good  friend  of  the  marabout.  I  have  heard  that  he  is  brave 
and  handsome,  all  that  a  young  girl  can  most  desire  in  a  hus- 
band." 

"I  am  not  going  to  marry  Si  Mai'eddine,"  said  Victoria. 
"I  thank  thee;  but  thou  must  keep  thy  gift  for  his  bride  when 
he  finds  one." 

"He  has  found  her  in  thee.  The  marriage  will  be  a  week 
from  to-morrow,  if  Allah  wills,  and  he  will  take  thee  away  to 
his  home.  The  marabout  himself  has  told  me  this,  though 
he  does  not  know  that  I  have  sent  for  thee,  and  that  thou  art 
with  me  now." 

"Allah  does  not  will,"  said  the  girl. 

"Perhaps  not,  since  thy  bridegroom-to-be  lies  ill  with  marsh 
fever,  so  Hadda  has  told  me.  He  came  back  from  Algiers 
with  the  sickness  heavy  upon  him,  caught  in  the  saltpetre 
marshes  that  stretch  between  Biskra  and  Touggourt.  I 
know  those  marshes,  for  I  was  in  Biskra  with  my  mother  when 
she  danced  there;  but  she  was  careful,  and  we  did  not  lie  at 
night  in  the  dangerous  regions  where  the  great  mosquitoes 
are.  Men  are  never  careful,  though  they  do  not  like  to  be  ill, 
and  thy  bridegroom  is  fretting.  But  he  will  be  better  in  a  few 
days  if  he  takes  the  draughts  which  the  marabout  has  blessed 
for  him;  and  if  the  wedding  is  not  in  a  week,  it  will  be  a  few 
days  later.  It  is  in  Allah's  hands." 

"I  tell  thee,  it  will  be  never,"  Victoria  persisted.  "And 
I  believe  thou  but  sayest  these  things  to  torture  me." 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  423 

"Dost  thou  not  love  Si  Maieddine?"  Miluda  asked  inno- 
cently. 

"Not  at  all." 

"Then  it  must  be  that  thou  lovest  some  other  man.  Dost 
thou,  Roumia?" 

"Thou  hast  no  right  to  ask  such  questions." 

"Be  not  angry,  Roumia,  for  we  are  coming  now  to  the  great 
reason  why  I  sent  for  thee.  It  is  to  help  thee.  I  wish  to  know 
whether  there  is  a  man  of  thine  own  people  thou  preferest  to 
Si  Maieddine." 

"Why  shouldst  thou  wish  to  help  me?  Thou  hast  never 
seen  me  till  now." 

"I  will  speak  the  truth  with  thee,"  said  Miluda,  "because 
thy  face  pleases  me,  though  I  prefer  my  own.  Thine  is  pure  and 
good,  like  the  face  of  the  white  angel  that  is  ever  at  our  right 
hand;  and  even  if  I  should  speak  falsely,  I  think  thou  wouldst 
not  be  deceived.  Before  I  saw  thee,  I  did  not  care  whether 
thou  wert  happy  or  sad.  It  was  nothing  to  me;  but  I  saw  i 
way  of  getting  thee  and  thy  sister  out  of  my  husband's  house, 
and  for  a  long  time  I  have  wished  thy  sister  gone.  Not  that 
I  am  jealous  of  her.  I  have  not  seen  her  face,  but  I  know 
she  is  already  old,  and  if  she  were  not  friendless  in  our  land,  the 
Sidi  would  have"  put  her  away  at  the  time  of  my  marriage  to 
him,  since  long  ago  he  has  ceased  to  care  whether  she  lives  or 
dies.  But  his  heart  is  great,  and  he  has  kept  her  under  his 
roof  for  kindness'  sake,  though  she  has  given  him  no  child,  and 
is  no  longer  a  wife  to  him.  I  alone  fill  his  life." 

She  paused,  hoping  perhaps  that  Victoria  would  answer; 
but  the  girl  was  silent,  biting  her  lip,  her  eyes  cast  down.  So 
Miluda  talked  on,  more  quietly. 

"There  is  a  wise  woman  in  the  city,  who  brings  me  perfumes 
and  silks  which  have  come  to  Oued  Tolga  by  caravan  from 
Tunis.  She  has  told  me  that  thy  sister  has  ill-wished  me,  and 
that  I  shall  never  have  a  boy  —  a  real  child  —  while  Leila 
Saida  breathes  the  same  air  with  me.  That  is  the  reason  I 


424  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE    ^ 

want  her  to  be  gone.  I  will  not  help  thee  to  go,  unless  thou 
takest  her  with  thee." 

"I  will  never,  never  leave  this  place  unless  we  go  together," 
Victoria  answered,  deeply  interested  and  excited  now. 

"That  is  well.  And  if  she  loves  thee  also,  she  would  not 
go  alone;  so  my  wish  is  to  do  what  I  can  for  both." 

"What  canst  thou  do?"  the  girl  asked. 

"I  will  tell  thee.  But  first  there  is  something  to  make 
clear.  I  was  on  my  roof  to-day,  when  a  young  Roumi  rode 
up  to  the  Zaouia  on  the  road  from  Oued  Tolga.  He  looked 
towards  the  roofs,  and  I  wondered.  From  mine,  I  cannot  see 
much  of  thy  sister's  roof,  but  I  watched,  and  I  saw  an  arm 
outstretched,  to  throw  a  packet.  Then  I  said  to  myself  that 
he  had  come  for  thee.  And  later  I  was  sure,  because  my 
women  told  me  that  while  he  talked  with  the  marabout,  the 
door  which  leads  to  thy  sister's  roof  was  nailed  up  hastily,  by 
command  of  the  master.  Some  order  must  have  gone  from 
him,  unknown  to  the  Roumi,  while  the  two  men  were  together. 
I  could  coax  nothing  of  the  story  from  the  Sidi  when  he  came 
to  me,  but  he  was  vexed,  and  his  brows  drew  together  over 
eyes  which  for  the  first  time  did  not  seem  to  look  at  me  with 
pleasure." 

"Thou  hast  guessed  aright,"  Victoria  admitted,  thankful 
that  Miluda's  suspicions  concerned  her  affairs  only,  and  not 
Saidee's.  "The  man  who  came  here  was  my  friend.  I 
care  for  him  more  than  for  any  one  in  the  world,  except  my 
sister;  and  if  I  cannot  marry  him,  I  will  die  rather  than  marry 
Si  Mai'eddine  or  any  other." 

"Then,  unless  I  help  thee,  thou  wilt  have  to  die,  for  nothing 
which  thou  alone,  or  thy  sister  can  do,  will  open  the  gates  for 
thee  to  go  out,  except  as  Si  Maieddine's  wife." 

"Then  help  me,"  said  Victoria,  boldly,  "and  thou  wilt  be 
rid  of  us  both  forever." 

"It  is  with  our  wits  we  must  work,  not  with  our  hands," 
replied  the  Ouled  Nail.  "The  power  of  the  marabout  is 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  425 

great.  He  has  many  men  to  serve  him,  and  the  gates  are  strong, 
while  women  are  very,  very  weak.  Yet  I  have  seen  into  the 
master's  heart,  and  I  can  give  thee  a  key  which  will  unlock 
the  gates.  Only  it  had  better  be  done  soon,  for  when  Si  Ma'ied- 
dine  is  well,  he  will  fight  for  thee;  and  if  thou  goest  forth  free, 
he  will  follow,  and  take  thee  in  the  dunes." 

Victoria  shivered,  for  the  picture  was  vivid  before  her  eyes, 
as  Miluda  painted  it.  "Give  me  the  key,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"The  key  of  the  master's  heart  is  his  son,"  the  other  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  that  kept  down  anger  and  humiliation.  "  Even 
me  he  would  sacrifice  to  his  boy.  I  know  it  well,  and  I  hate  the 
child.  I  pray  for  one  of  my  own,  for  because  the  Sidi  loves  me, 
and  did  not  love  the  boy's  mother,  he  would  care  ten  thousand 
times  more  for  a  child  of  mine.  The  wise  woman  says  so,  and  I 
believe  it.  When  thy  sister  is  gone,  I  shall  have  a  boy,  and  no- 
thing left  to  wish  for  on  earth.  Send  a  message  to  thy  lover, 
saying  that  the  marabout's  only  son  is  at  school  in  Oued 
Tolga,  the  city.  Tell  him  to  steal  the  child  and  hide  it,  making 
a  bargain  with  the  marabout  that  he  shall  have  it  safely  back, 
if  he  will  let  thee  and  thy  sister  go;  otherwise  he  shall  never 
see  it  again." 

"That  would  be  a  cruel  thing  to.  do,  and  my  sister  could  not 
consent,"  said  Victoria,  "even  if  we  were  able  to  send  a  mes- 
sage." 

"Hadda  would  send  the  massage.  A  friend  from  the  village 
is  coming  to  see  her,  and  the  master  has  no  suspicion  of  me  at 
present,  as  he  has  of  thee.  We  could  send  a  letter,  and  Hadda 
would  manage  everything.  But  there  is  not  much  time,  for 
now  while  my  husband  is  with  Si  Mai'eddine,  treating  him 
for  his  fever,  is  our  only  chance,  to-night.  We  have  perhaps 
an  hour  in  which  to  decide  and  arrange  everything.  After  that, 
his  coming  may  be  announced  to  me.  And  no  harm  would 
happen  to  the  child.  The  master  would  suffer  in  his  mind 
for  a  short  time,  till  he  decided  to  make  terms,  that  is  all. 


426  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

As  for  me,  have  no  fear  of  my  betraying  thee.  Thou 
needst  but  revenge  thyself  by  letting  the  master  know  how 
I  plotted  for  the  stealing  of  his  boy,  for  him  to  put  me  out 
of  his  heart  and  house  forever.  Then  I  should  have  to  kill 
myself  with  a  knife,  or  with  poison;  and  I  am  young  and 
happy,  and  do  not  desire  to  die  yet.  Go  now,  and  tell  thy 
sister  what  I  have  said.  Let  her  answer  for  thee,  for  she 
knows  this  land  and  the  people  of  it,  and  she  is  wiser  than  thou." 
Without  another  word  or  look  at  the  beautiful  pagan  face, 
Victoria  went  out  of  the  room,  and  found  Hadda  waiting  to 
hurry  her  away. 


XLVI 

IT  WAS  after  one  o'clock  when  Stephen  and  Nevill 
bade  each  other  good  night,  after  a  stroll  out  of  the 
town  into  the  desert.  They  had  built  up  plans  and 
torn  them  down  again,  and  no  satisfactory  decision 
had  been  reached,  for  both  feared  that,  if  they  attempted  to 
threaten  the  marabout  with  their  knowledge  of  his  past,  he 
would  defy  them  to  do  their  worst.  Without  Saidee  and 
Victoria,  they  could  bring  forward  no  definite  and  visible  proof 
that  the  great  marabout,  Sidi  El  Hadj  Mohammed  Abd  el 
Kadr,  and  the  disgraced  Captain  Cassim  ben  Halim  were  one. 
And  the  supreme  difficulty  was  to  produce  Saidee  and  Victoria 
as  witnesses.  It  was  not  even  certain,  if  the  marabout  were 
threatened  and  thought  himself  in  danger,  that  he  might 
not  cause  the  sisters  to  disappear.  That  thought  prevented 
the  two  men  from  coming  easily  to  any  decision.  Sabine  had 
not  told  them  that  he  knew  Saidee,  or  that  he  had  actually 
heard  of  the  girl's  arrival  in  the  Zaoui'a.  He  longed  to  tell  and 
join  with  them  in  their  quest;  but  it  would  have  seemed  a 
disloyalty  to  the  woman  he  loved.  It  needed  a  still  greater  in- 
centive to  make  him  speak  out;  while  as  for  the  Englishmen, 
though  they  would  gladly  have  taken  his  advice,  they  hesitated 
to  give  away  the  secret  of  Saidee  Ray's  husband  to  a  repre- 
sentative of  Ben  Halim's  stern  judge,  France. 

Various  plans  for  action  had  been  discussed,  yet  Stephen 
and  Nevill  both  felt  that  all  were  subject  to  modification. 
Each  had  the  hope  that  the  silent  hours  would  bring  inspira- 
tion, and  so  they  parted  at  last.  But  Stephen  had  not  been  in 
his  room  ten  minutes  when  there  came  a  gentle  tap  at  his  door. 

427 


428  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

He  thought  that  it  must  be  Nevill,  returning  to  announce  the 
birth  of  a  new  idea;  but  in  the  dark  corridor  stood  a  shadowy 
Arab,  he  who  did  most  of  the  work  in  the  hotel  outside  the 
kitchen. 

"A  person  has  come  with  a  letter  for  Monsieur,"  the  man 
mumbled  in  bad  French,  his  voice  so  sleepy  as  to  be  almost 
inarticulate.  "He  would  not  give  it  to  me,  the  foolish  one. 
He  insists  on  putting  it  into  the  hand  of  Monsieur.  No  doubt 
it  is  a  pourboire  he  wants.  He  has  followed  me  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  and  he  has  no  French." 

"Where  does  he  come  from?"  asked  Stephen. 

"He  will  not  say.  But  he  is  a  Negro  whom  I  have  never 
seen  in  the  city." 

"Call  him,"  Stephen  said.  And  in  a  moment  a  thin  young 
Negro,  dusted  all  over  with  sand,  came  into  the  square  of  light 
made  by  the  open  door.  His  legs  were  bare,  and  over  his  body 
he  appeared  to  have  no  other  garment  but  a  ragged,  striped 
gandourah.  In  a  purple-black  hand  he  held  a  folded  piece  of 
paper,  and  Stephen's  heart  jumped  at  sight  of  his  own  name 
written  in  a  clear  handwriting.  It  was  not  unlike  Victoria's 
but  it  was  not  hers. 

"The  man  says  he  cannot  take  a  letter  back,"  explained  the 
Arab  servant.  "But  if  Monsieur  will  choose  a  word  to  answer, 
he  will  repeat  it  over  and  over  until  he  has  it  by  heart.  Then 
he  will  pass  it  on  in  the  same  way." 

Stephen  was  reading  his  letter  and  scarcely  heard.  It 
was  Victoria's  sister  who  wrote.  She  signed  herself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bit  of  paper  —  a  leaf  torn  from  a  copy  book  — 
"Saidee  Ray,"  as  though  she  had  never  been  married.  She 
had  evidently  written  in  great  haste,  but  the  thing  she  proposed 
was  clearly  set  forth,  as  if  in  desperation.  Victoria  did  not 
approve,  she  said,  and  hoped  some  other  plan  might  be  found; 
but  in  Saidee's  opinion  there  was  no  other  plan  which  offered 
any  real  chance  of  success.  In  their  situation,  they  could  not 
afford  to  stick  at  trifles,  and  neither  could  Mr.  Knight,  if  he 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  429 

wished  to  save  Victoria  from  being  married  against  her  will  to 
an  Arab.  There  was  no  time  to  lose  if  anything  were  to  be 
done;  and  if  Mr.  Knight  were  willing  to  take  the  way  suggested, 
would  he  say  the  word  "yes,"  very  distinctly,  to  the  messenger, 
as  it  would  not  be  safe  to  try  and  smuggle  a  letter  into  the 
Zaoui'a. 

It  was  a  strange,  even  a  detestable  plot,  which  Saidee  sug- 
gested; yet  when  Stephen  had  turned  it  over  in  his  mind  for  a 
moment  he  said  the  word  "  yes  "  with  the  utmost  distinctness. 
The  sand-covered  Negro  imitated  him  several  times,  and  having 
achieved  success,  was  given  more  money  than  he  had  ever  seen 
in  his  life.  He  would  not  tell  the  Arab,  who  escorted  him 
downstairs  again,  whence  he  had  come,  but  it  was  a  long  dis- 
tance and  he  had  walked.  He  must  return  on  foot,  and  if 
he  were  to  be  back  by  early  morning,  he  ought  to  get  off  at 
once.  Stephen  made  no  effort  to  keep  him,  though  he  would 
have  liked  Saidee's  messenger  to  be  seen  by  Caird. 

Nevill  had  not  begun  to  undress,  when  Stephen  knocked  at 
his  door.  He  was  about  to  begin  one  of  his  occasional  letters 
to  Josette,  with  his  writing  materials  arranged  abjectly  round 
one  tallow  candle,  on  a  washhand  stand. 

"That  beast  of  a  Cassim!  He's  going  to  try  and  marry  the 
poor  child  off  to  his  friend  Mai'eddine ! "  Nevill  growled,  read- 
ing the  letter.  "Stick  at  trifles  indeed!  I  should  think  not. 
This  is  Providential  —  just  when  we  couldn't  quite  make  up 
our  minds  what  to  do  next." 

"You're  not  complimentary  to  Providence,"  said  Stephen. 
"  Seems  to  me  a  horrid  sort  of  thing  to  do,  though  I'm  not  pre- 
pared to  say  I  won't  do  it.  She  doesn't  approve,  her  sister 
says,  you  see " 

"Who  knows  the  man  better,  his  wife  or  the  girl?" 

"That  goes  without  saying.  Well,  I'm  swallowing  my 
scruples  as  fast  as  I  can  get  them  down,  though  they're  a  lump 
in  my  throat.  However,  we  wouldn't  hurt  the  little  chap,  and 
if  the  father  adores  him,  as  she  says,  we'd  have  Ben  Halim 


430  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

pretty  well  under  our  thumbs,  to  squeeze  him  as  we  chose. 
Knowing  his  secret  as  we  do,  he  wouldn't  dare  apply  to  the 
French  for  help,  for  fear  we'd  give  him  away.  We  must  make 
it  clear  that  we  well  know  who  he  is,  and  that  if  he  squeals,  the 
fat's  in  the  fire!" 

"That's  the  right  spirit.  We'll  make  him  shake  in  his 
boots  for  fear  we  give  not  only  the  secret,  but  the  boy,  over 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  authorities.  For  it's  perfectly 
true  that  if  the  Government  knew  what  a  trick  had  been  played 
on  them,  they'd  ous£  the  false  marabout  in  favour  of  the  rightful 
man,  whoever  he  may  be,  clap  the  usuper  into  prison,  and  make 
the  child  a  kind  of  —  er  —  ward  in  chancery,  or  whatever  the 
equivalent  is  in  France.  Oh,  I  can  tell  you,  my  boy,  this  idea 
is  the  inspiration  of  a  genius!  The  man  will  see  we're  making 
no  idle  threat,  that  we  can't  carry  out.  He'll  have  to  hand 
over  the  ladies,  or  he'll  spend  some  of  his  best  years  in  prison, 
and  never  see  his  beloved  boy  again." 

"First  we've  got  to  catch  our  hare.  But  there  Sabine  could 
help  us,  if  we  called  him  in." 

"Yes.  And  we  couldn't  do  better  than  have  him  with  us, 
I  think,  Legs,  now  we've  come  to  this  turn  in  the  road." 

"I  agree  so  far.  Still,  let's  keep  Ben  Halim's  secret  to 
ourselves.  We  must  have  it  to  play  with.  I  believe  Sabine's 
a  man  to  trust;  but  he's  a  French  officer;  and  a  plot  of  that  sort 
he  might  feel  it  his  duty  to  make  known." 

"All  right.  We'll  keep  back  that  part  of  the  business. 
It  isn't  necessary  to  give  it  away.  But  otherwise  Sabine's 
the  man  for  us.  He's  a  romantic  sort  of  chap,  not  unlike  me 
in  that;  it's  what  appealed  to  me  in  him  the  minute  we  began 
to  draw  each  other  out.  He'll  snap  at  an  adventure  to  help 
a  pretty  girl  even  though  he's  never  seen  her;  and  he  knows 
the  marabout's  boy  and  the  guardian-uncle.  He  was  talk- 
ing to  me  about  them  this  afternoon.  Let's  go  and  rout  him 
out.  I  bet  he'll  have  a  plan  to  propose." 

"Rather  cheek,  to  rouse  him  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  431 

We  might  wait  till  morning,  since  I  don't  see  that  we  can  do 
anything  useful  before." 

"He  only  got  in  from  seeing  some  friend  in  barracks,  about 
one.  He  doesn't  look  like  a  sleepy-head.  Besides,  if  I'm 
not  mistaken,  I  smell  his  cigarettes.  He's  probably  lying 
on  his  bed,  reading  a  novel." 

But  Sabine  was  reading  something  to  him  far  more  inter- 
esting than  any  novel  written  by  the  greatest  genius  of  all  ages; 
a  collection  of  Saidee's  letters,  which  he  invariably  read  through, 
from  first  to  last,  every  night  before  even  trying  to  sleep. 

The  chance  to  be  in  the  game  of  rescue  was  new  life  to  him. 
He  grudged  Saidee's  handwriting  to  another  man,  even  though 
he  felt  that,  somehow,  she  had  hoped  that  he  would  see  it,  and 
that  he  would  work  with  the  others.  He  laughed  at  the  idea 
that  the  adventure  would  be  more  dangerous  for  him  as  a 
French  officer,  if  anything  leaked  out,  than  for  two  travelling 
Englishmen. 

"I  would  give  my  soul  to  be  in  this!"  he  exclaimed,  before 
he  knew  what  he  was  saying,  or  what  meaning  might  be  read 
into  his  words.  But  both  faces  spoke  surprise.  He  was 
abashed,  yet  eager.  The  impulse  of  his  excitement  led  him 
on,  and  he  began  stammering  out  the  story  he  had  not  meant  to 
tell. 

"I  can't  say  the  things  you  ought  to  know,  without  the  things 
that  no  one  ought  to  know,"  he  explained  in  his  halting  Eng- 
lish, plunging  back  now  and  then  inadvertently  into  fluent 
French.  "It  is  wrong  not  to  confess  that  all  the  time  I  know 
that  young  lady  is  there  —  in  the  Zaouia.  But  there  is  a  reason 
I  feel  it  not  right  to  confess.  Now  it  will  be  different  because 
of  this  letter  that  has  come.  You  must  hear  all  and  you  can 
judge  me." 

So  the  story  was  poured  out:  the  romance  of  that  wonderful 
day  when,  while  he  worked  at  the  desert  well  in  the  hot  sun,  a 
lady  went  by,  with  her  servants,  to  the  Moorish  baths.  How 
her  veil  had  fallen  aside,  and  he  had  seen  her  face  —  oh,  but  the 


432  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

face  of  a  houri,  an  angel.  Yet  so  sad  —  tragedy  in  the  beauti- 
ful eyes.  In  all  his  life  he  had  not  seen  such  beauty  or  felt  his 
heart  so  stirred.  Through  an  attendant  at  the  baths  he  had 
found  out  that  the  lovely  lady  was  the  wife  of  the  marabout, 
a  Roumia,  said  not  to  be  happy.  From  that  moment  he  would 
have  sacrificed  his  hopes  of  heaven  to  set  her  free.  He  Lad 
written  —  he  had  laid  his  life  at  her  feet.  She  had  answered. 
He  had  written  again.  Then  the  sister  had  arrived.  He  had 
been  told  in  a  letter  of  her  coming.  At  first  he  had  thought  it 
impossible  to  confide  a  secret  concerning  another  —  that  other 
a  woman  —  even  to  her  sister's  friends.  But  now  there  was 
no  other  way.  They  must  all  work  together.  Some  day  he 
hoped  that  the  dear  prisoner  would  be  free  to  give  herself  to 
him  as  his  wife.  Till  then,  she  was  sacred,  even  in  his  thoughts. 
Even  her  sister  could  find  no  fault  with  his  love.  And  would 
the  new  friends  shake  his  hand  wishing  him  joy  in  future. 

So  all  three  shook  hands  with  great  heartiness;  and  perhaps 
Sabine  would  have  become  still  more  expansive  had  he  not 
been  brought  up  to  credit  Englishmen  stolid  fellows  at  best 
with  a  favourite  motto:  "Deeds,  not  words." 

As  Sabine  told  his  story,  Stephen's  brain  had  been  busily 
weaving.  He  did  not  like  the  thing  they  had  to  do,  but  if  it 
must  be  done,  the  only  hope  lay  in  doing  it  well  and  thoroughly. 
Sabine's  acquaintance  with  the  boy  and  his  guardian  would  be 
a  great  help. 

"I've  been  thinking  how  we  can  best  carry  out  this  business," 
he  said,  when  the  pact  of  friendship  had  been  sealed  by  clasp 
of  hands.  "We  can't  afford  to  have  any  row  or  scandal.  It 
must  somehow  be  managed  without  noise,  for  the  sake  of  — 
the  ladies,  most  of  all,  and  next,  for  the  sake  of  Captain  Sabine. 
As  a  Frenchman  and  an  officer,  it  would  certainly  be  a  lot  worse 
for  him  than  for  us,  if  we  landed  him  in  any  mess  with  the 
authorities." 

"I  care  nothing  for  myself."  Sabine  broke  in,  hotly. 

"All  the  more  reason  for  us  to  keep  our  heads  cool  if  we  can, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  433 

and  look  after  you.  We  must  get  the  boy  to  go  away  of  his 
own  accord." 

"That  is  more  easy  to  propose  than  to  do."  said  Sabine, 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"Well,  an  idea  has  come  into  my  head.  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  it  —  if  you  can  help  us  work  it.  We  couldn't  do  it 
without  you.  Do  you  know  the  child  and  his  uncle  so  well 
that  it  wouldn't  seem  queer  to  invite  them  to  the  hotel  for  a 
meal  —  say  luncheon  to-morrow,  or  rather  to-day  —  for 
it's  morning  now  ?" 

"Yes,  I  could  do  that.  And  they  would  come.  It  would 
be  an  amusement  for  them.  Life  is  dull  here,"  Sabine  eagerly 
replied. 

"Good.     Does  the  child  speak  French?" 

"A  little.     He  is  learning  in  the  school." 

"That's  lucky,  for  I  don't  know  a  dozen  words  of  Arab,  and 
even  my  friend  Caird  can't  be  eloquent  in  it.  Wings,  do  you 
think  you  could  work  up  the  boy  to  a  wild  desire  for  a  tour 
in  a  motor-car?" 

"I  would  bet  on  myself  to  do  that.  I  could  make  him  a 
motor  fiend,  between  the  hars  d'ceuvres  and  fruit." 

"Our  great  stumbling  block,  then,  is  the  uncle.  I  suppose 
he's  a  sort  of  watch-dog,  who  couldn't  be  persuaded  to  leave 
the  boy  alone  a  minute  ?  " 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Sabine.  "It  is  true  he  is  a 
watch-dog;  but  I  could  throw  him  a  bone  I  think  would  tempt 
him  to  desert  his  post  —  if  he  had  no  suspieion  of  a  trap. 
What  you  want,  I  begin  to  see,  is  to  get  him  out  of  the  way, 
so  that  Monsieur  Caird  could  induce  the  little  Mohammed  to 
go  away  willingly?" 

"Yes." 

"Eh  bien!  It  is  as  good  as  done.  I  see  the  way.  Hassan 
ben  Saad,  the  respectable  uncle,  has  a  secret  weakness  which  I 
have  found  out.  He  has  lost  his  head  for  the  prettiest  and 
youngest  dancer  in  the  quarter  of  the  Ouled  Nails.  She  is  a 


434  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

great  favourite,  Nedjma,  and  she  will  not  look  at  him.  He  is 
too  old  and  dry.  Besides,  he  has  no  money  except  what  the 
marabout  gives  him  as  guardian  to  the  boy  at  school.  Hassan 
sends  Nedjma  such  presents  as  he  can  afford,  and  she  laughs 
at  them  with  the  other  girls,  though  she  keeps  them,  of  course. 
To  please  me,  she  will  write  a  letter  to  Ben  Saad,  telling  him 
that  if  he  comes  to  her  at  once,  without  waiting  a  moment,  he 
may  find  her  heart  soft  for  him.  This  letter  shall  be  brought  to 
our  table,  at  the  hotel,  while  Hassan  finishes  his  (ttjeuner  with 
us.  He  will  make  a  thousand  apologies  and  tell  a  thousand  lies, 
saying  it  is  a  call  of  business.  Probably  he  will  pretend  that 
it  concerns  the  marabout,  of  whom  he  boasts  always  as  his 
relative.  Then  he  will  go,  in  a  great  hurry,  leaving  the  child, 
because  we  will  kindly  invite  him  to  do  so;  and  he  will  promise 
to  return  soon  for  his  nephew.  But  Nedjma  will  be  so  sweet 
that  he  will  not  return  soon.  He  will  be  a  long  time  away  — 
hours.  He  will  forget  the  boy,  and  everything  but  his  hope 
that  at  last  Nedjma  will  love  him.  Does  that  plan  of  mine  fit 
in  with  yours,  Monsieur?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Knight.  "What  do  you  think,  Wings?" 
"As  you  do.  You're  both  geniuses.  And  I'll  try  to  keep 
my  end  up  by  fascinating  the  child.  He  shall  be  mine,  body 
and  soul,  by  the  end  of  lunch.  When  he  finds  that  we're 
leaving  Oued  Tolga,  instantly,  and  that  he  must  be  sent  ig- 
nominiously  home,  he  shall  be  ready  to  howl  with  grief.  Then 
I'll  ask  him  suddenly,  how  he'd  like  to  go  on  a  little  trip,  just 
far  enough  to  meet  my  motor-car,  and  have  a  ride  in  it.  He'll 
say  yes,  like  a  shot,  if  he's  a  normal  boy.  And  if  the  uncle's 
away,  it  will  be  nobody's  business  even  if  they  see  the  mara- 
bout's son  having  a  ride  behind  me  on  my  horse,  as  he  might 
with  his  own  father.  Trust  me  to  lure  the  imp  on  with  us 
afterward,  step  by  step,  in  a  dream  of  happiness.  I  was  al- 
ways a  born  hirer  —  except  when  I  wanted  a  thing  or  person 
for  myself." 

"You  say,  lure  him  on  with  'us'"  Stephen  cut  in.     "But 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  435 

it  will  have  to  be  you  alone.  I  must  stay  at  this  end  of  the  line, 
and  when  the  time  comes,  give  the  marabout  our  ultimatum. 
The  delay  will  be  almost  intolerable,  but  of  course  the  only 
thing  is  to  lie  low  until  you're  so  far  on  the  way  to  Touggourt 
with  the  child,  that  a  rescue  scheme  would  be  no  good.  Toug- 
gourt's  a  bit  on  the  outskirts  of  the  marabout's  zone  of  in- 
fluence, let's  hope.  Besides,  he  wouldn't  dare  attack  you 
there,  in  the  shadow  of  the  French  barracks.  It's  his  business 
to  help  keep  peace  in  the  desert,  and  knowing  what  we  know 
of  his  past,  I  think  with  the  child  out  of  his  reach  he'll  be 
pretty  well  at  our  mercy." 

"When  Hassan  ben  Saad  finds  the  boy  gone,  he  will  be  very 
sick,"  said  Sabine.  "But  I  shall  be  polite  and  sympathetic, 
and  will  give  him  good  advice.  He  is  in  deadly  awe  of  the 
marabout,  and  I  will  say  that,  if  the  child's  father  hears 
what  has  happened,  there  will  be  no  forgiveness  —  nothing 
but  ruin.  Waiting  is  the  game  to  play,  I  will  counsel  Hassan. 
I  shall  remind  him  that,  being  Friday,  no  questions  will  be 
asked  at  school  till  Monday,  and  I  shall  raise  his  hopes  that 
little  Mohammed  will  be  back  soon  after  that,  if  not  before. 
At  worst,  I  will  say,  he  can  pretend  the  child  is  shut  up  in  the 
house  with  a  cough.  I  shall  assure  him  that  Monsieur  Caird 
is  a  man  of  honour  and  great  riches;  that  no  harm  can  come 
to  little  Mohammed  in  his  care.  I  will  explain  how  the  boy 
pleaded  to  go,  and  make  Hassan  happy  with  the  expectation 
that  in  a  few  days  Monsieur  Caird  is  coming  back  to  fetch 
his  friend;  that  certainly  Mohammed  will  be  with  him,  safe 
and  sound;  and  that,  if  he  would  not  lose  his  position,  he 
must  say  nothing  of  what  has  happened  to  any  one  who  might 
tell  the  marabout." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  persuade  him  to  keep  a  still  tongue 
in  his  head  till  it  suits  us  to  have  him  speak,  or  write  a  letter 
for  me  to  take?"  asked  Stephen. 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  Hassan  is  a  coward,  and  you  have  but  to 
look  him  in  the  face  to  see  he  has  no  self-reliance.  He  must 


436  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

lean  on  some  one  else.  He  shall  lean  on  me.  And  Nedjma 
shall  console  him,  so  that  time  will  pass,  and  he  shall  hardly 
know  how  it  is  going.  He  will  speak  when  we  want  him  to 
speak  or  write,  not  before." 

The  three  men  talked  on  in  Stephen's  room  till  dawn, 
deciding  details  which  cropped  up  for  instant  settlement.  At 
last  it  was  arranged  —  taking  the  success  of  their  plan  for 
granted  —  that  Stephen  should  wait  a  day  and  a  half  after  the 
departure  of  Nevill's  little  caravan.  By  that  time,  it  should 
have  got  half-way  to  Touggourt;  but  there  was  one  bordj 
where  it  would  come  in  touch  with  the  telegraph.  Stephen 
would  then  start  for  the  Zaoula,  for  an  interview  with  the  mara- 
bout, who,  no  doubt,  was  already  wondering  why  he  did  not 
follow  up  his  first  attempt  by  a  second.  He  would  hire  or  buy 
in  the  city  a  racing  camel  fitted  with  a  bassour  large  enough  for 
two,  and  this  he  would  take  with  him  to  the  Zaoula,  ready  to 
bring  away  both  sisters.  No  allusion  to  Saidee  would  be  made 
in  words.  The  "ultimatum"  would  concern  Victoria  only,  as 
the  elder  sister  was  wife  to  the  marabout,  and  no  outsider 
could  assume  to  have  jurisdiction  over  her.  But  as  it  was 
certain  that  Victoria  would  not  stir  without  Saidee,  a  demand 
for  one  was  equivalent  to  a  demand  for  the  other. 

This  part  of  the  plan  was  to  be  subject  to  modification,  in 
case  Stephen  saw  Victoria,  and  she  proposed  any  course  of 
action  concerning  her  sister.  As  for  Sabine,  having  helped 
to  make  the  plot  he  was  to  hold  himself  ready  at  Oued  Tolga, 
the  city,  for  Stephen's  return  from  the  Zaouia.  And  the  rest 
was  on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 


XLVII 

FOR  the  second  time   Stephen   entered   by   the   great 
gates  of  the  Zaouia.     The   lounging  Negro,  who  had 
let  him  in  before,  stared  at  the  grey   mehari   with 
the    red-curtained    bassour,  whose    imposing    height 
dwarfed  the  Roumi's  horse.     No  doubt  the  man  wondered 
why  it  was  there,  since  only  women  or  invalids  travelled  in  a 
bassour;  — and  his  eyes  dwelt  with  interest  on  the  two  Arabs 
from  the  town  of  Oued  Tolga.     Perhaps  he  thought  that  they 
would  satisfy  his  curiosity,  when  the  visitor  had  gone  inside. 
But  Stephen  thought  differently.     The  Arabs  would  tell  nothing, 
because  they  knew  nothing  which  could  explain  the  mystery. 

The  Negro  had  no  French,  and  either  did  not  understand 
or  pretended  not  to  understand  the  Roumi's  request  to  see  the 
marabout.  This  looked  ominous,  because  Stephen  had  been 
let  in  without  difficulty  the  first  time;  and  the  Negro  seemed 
intelligent  enough  to  be  stupid  in  accordance  with  instructions. 
Great  insistance,  however,  and  the  production  of  documents 
(ordinary  letters,  but  effective  to  impress  the  uneducated 
intelligence)  persuaded  the  big  gate-keeper  to  send  for  an  in- 
terpreter. 

Stephen  waited  with  outward  patience,  though  a  loud  voice 
seemed  crying  in  his  ears,  "What  will  happen  next?  What 
will  the  end  be  —  success,  or  a  sudden  fluke  that  will  mean 
failure?"  He  barred  his  mind  against  misgivings,  but  he  had 
hoped  for  some  sign  of  life  when  ht  rode  in  sight  of  the  white 
roofs;  and  there  had  been  no  sign. 

For  many  minutes  he  waited;  and  then  came  an  old  man 
who  had  showed  him  to  the  marabout's  reception  room  on 

437 


438  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

his  first  visit.  Stephen  was  glad  to  see  this  person,  because  he 
could  speak  a  little  French,  and  because  he  had  a  mild  air, 
as  if  he  might  easily  be  browbeaten. 

"I  must  see  Sidi  Mohammed  on  important  business," 
Stephen  said. 

The  old  man  was  greatly  grieved,  but  Sidi  Mohammed 
was  indisposed  and  not  able  to  speak  with  any  one.  Would 
Monsieur  care  to  visit  the  mosque  again,  and  would  he  drink 
coffee  ? 

So  this  was  the  game!  Stephen  was  not  surprised.  His 
face  flushed  and  his  jaw  squared.  He  would  not  drink  coffee, 
and  he  would  not  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  mosque; 
but  would  trouble  the  interpreter  with  a  message  to  the  mara- 
bout; and  would  await  an  answer.  Then  Stephen  wrote  on 
one  of  his  visiting  cards,  in  English.  "I  have  important  news 
of  your  son,  which  you  would  regret  not  hearing.  And  it  can 
be  told  to  no  one  but  yourself." 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  messenger  came  back.  The 
marabout,  though  not  well,  would  receive  Monsieur.  Stephen 
was  led  through  the  remembered  labyrinth  of  covered  passages, 
dim  and  cool,  though  outside  the  desert  sand  flamed  under  the 
afternoon  sun;  and  as  he  walked  he  was  aware  of  softly  pad- 
ding footsteps  behind  him.  Once,  he  turned  his  head  quickly, 
and  saw  that  he  was  followed  by  a  group  of  three  tall  Negroes. 
They  looked  away  when  they  met  his  eyes,  as  if  they  were  on 
his  heels  by  accident;  but  he  guessed  that  they  had  been  told 
to  watch  him,  and  took  the  caution  as  a  compliment.  Yet  he 
realized  that  he  ran  some  risk  in  coming  to  this  place  on  such 
an  errand  as  his.  Already  the  marabout  looked  upon  him  as 
an  enemy,  no  doubt;  and  it  was  not  impossible  that  news  of 
the  boy's  disappearance  had  by  this  time  reached  the  Zaoui'a, 
in  spite  of  his  guardian's  selfish  cowardice.  If  so,  and  if 
the  father  connected  the  kidnapping  of  his  son  with  to-day's 
visitor,  he  might  let  his  desire  for  revenge  overcome  prudence. 
To  prove  his  power  by  murdering  an  Englishman,  his  guest, 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  439 

would  do  the  desert  potentate  more  harm  than  good  in  the  end ; 
yet  men  of  mighty  passions  do  not  always  stop  to  think  of 
consequences,  and  Stephen  was  not  blind  to  his  own  danger. 
If  the  marabout  lost  his  temper,  not  a  man  in  the  Zaoula  but 
would  be  ready  to  obey  a  word  or  gesture,  and  short  work 
might  be  made  of  Victoria  Ray's  only  champion.  However, 
Stephen  counted  a  good  deal  on  Ben  Halim's  caution,  and  on 
the  fact  that  his  presence  in  the  Zaoui'a  was  known  outside.  He 
meant  to  acquaint  his  host  with  that  fact  as  a  preface  to  their 
conversation. 

"The  marabout  will  come  presently,"  the  mild  interpreter 
announced,  when  he  had  brought  Stephen  once  more  to  the 
reception  room  adjoining  the  mosque.  So  saying,  he  bowed 
himself  away,  and  shut  the  door;  but  Stephen  opened  it  almost 
instantly,  to  look  out.  It  was  as  he  expected.  The  tall 
Negroes  stood  lazily  on  guard.  They  scarcely  showed  surprise 
at  being  caught,  yet  their  fixed  stare  was  somewhat  strained. 

"  I  wonder  if  there's  to  be  a  signal  ?  "  thought  Stephen. 

It  was  very  still  in  the  reception-room  of  Sidi  Mohammed. 
The  young  man  sat  down  opposite  the  door  of  that  inner  room 
from  which  the  marabout  had  come  to  greet  him  the  other  day, 
but  he  did  not  turn  his  back  fully  upon  the  door  behind  which 
were  the  watchers.  Minutes  passed  on.  Nothing  happened, 
and  there  was  no  sound.  Stephen  grew  impatient.  He  knew, 
from  what  he  had  heard  of  the  great  Zaoui'a,  that  manifold  and 
strenuous  lives  were  being  lived  all  around  him  in  this  enor- 
mous hive,  which  was  university,  hospice,  mosque,  and  walled 
village  in  one.  Yet  there  was  no  hum  of  men  talking,  of  women 
chatting  over  their  work,  or  children  laughing  at  play.  The 
silence  was  so  profound  that  it  was  emphasized  to  his  ears  by 
the  droning  of  a  fly  in  one  of  the  high,  iron-barred  windows; 
and  in  spite  of  himself  he  started  when  it  was  suddenly  and 
ferociously  broken  by  a  melancholy  roar  like  the  thunderous 
yawn  of  a  bored  lion.  But  still  the  marabout  did  not  appear. 
Evidently  he  intended  to  show  the  persistent  Roumi  that  he  was 


440  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

not  to  be  intimidated  or  browbeaten,  or  else  he  did  not  really 
mean  to  come  at  all. 

The  thought  that  perhaps,  while  he  waited,  he  had  been 
quietly  made  a  prisoner,  brought  Stephen  to  his  feet.  He 
was  on  the  point  of  trying  the  inner  door,  when  it  opened, 
and  the  masked  marabout  stood  looking  at  him,  with 
keen  eyes  which  the  black  veil  seemed  to  darken  and  make 
sinister. 

Without  speaking,  the  Arab  closed,  but  did  not  latch,  the 
door  behind  him;  and  standing  still  he  spoke  in  the  deep 
voice  that  was  slightly  muffled  by  the  thin  band  of  woollen 
stuff  over  the  lower  part  of  his  face. 

"Thou  hast  sent  me  an  urgent  summons  to  hear  tidings  of 
my  son,"  he  said  in  his  correct,  measured  French.  "What 
canst  thou  know,  which  I  do  not  know  already  ?" 

"I  began  to  think  you  were  not  very  desirous  to  hear  my 
news,"  replied  Stephen,  "  as  I  have  been  compelled  to  wait  so 
long  that  my  friends  in  Oued  Tolga  will  be  wondering  what 
detains  me  in  the  Zaoui'a,  or  whether  any  accident  has  befallen 
me." 

"As  thou  wert  doubtless  informed,  I  am  not  well,  and  was 
not  prepared  to  receive  guests.  I  have  made  an  exception  in 
thy  favour,  because  of  the  message  thou  sent.  Pray,  do  not 
keep  me  in  suspense,  if  harm  has  come  to  my  son."  Sidi 
Mohammed  did  not  invite  his  guest  to  sit  down. 

"No  harm  has  come  to  the  boy,"  Stephen  reassured  him. 
"  He  is  in  good  hands." 

"In  charge  of  his  uncle,  whom  I  have  appointed  his 
guardian,"  the  marabout  broke  in. 

"He  doesn't  know  anything  yet,"  Stephen  said  to  himself, 
quickly.  Then,  aloud:  "At  present,  he  is  not  in  charge  of 
his  uncle,  but  is  with  a  friend  of  mine.  He  will  be  sent  back 
safe  and  well  to  Oued  Tolga,  when  you  have  discovered 
the  whereabouts  of  Miss  Ray  —  the  young  lady  of  whom 
you  knew  nothing  the  other  day  —  and  when  you  have 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  441 

produced  her.  I  know  now,  with  absolute  certainty,  that 
she  is  here  in  the  Zaouia.  When  she  leaves  it,  with  me 
and  the  escort  I  have  brought,  to  join  her  friends,  you  will 
see  your  son  again,  but  not  before;  and  never  unless  Miss  Ray 
is  given  up." 

The  marabout's  dark  hands  clenched  themselves,  and  he 
took  a  step  forward,  but  stopped  and  stood  still,  tall  and  rigid, 
within  arm's-length  of  the  Englishman. 

"Thou  darest  to  come  here  and  threaten  me!"  he  said. 
"Thou  art  a  fool.  If  thou  and  thy  friends  have  stolen  my 
child,  all  will  be  punished,  not  by  me,  but  by  the  power  which 
is  set  above  me  to  rule  this  land  —  France." 

"  We  have  no  fear  of  such  punishment,  or  any  other,"  Stephen 
answered.  "We  have  'dared'  to  take  the  boy;  and  I  have 
dared,  as  you  say,  to  come  here  and  threaten,  but  not  idly. 
We  have  not  only  your  son,  but  your  secret,  in  our  possession; 
and  if  Miss  Ray  is  not  allowed  to  go,  or  if  anything  happens  to 
me,  you  will  never  see  your  boy  again,  because  France  herself 
will  come  between  you  and  him.  You  will  be  sent  to  prison  as 
a  fraudulent  pretender,  and  the  boy  will  become  a  ward  of  the 
nation.  He  will  no  longer  have  a  father." 

The  dark  eyes  blazed  above  the  mask,  though  still  the 
marabout  did  not  move.  "Thou  art  a  liar  and  a  madman," 
he  said.  "I  do  not  understand  thy  ravings,  for  they  have  no 
meaning." 

"They  will  have  a  fatal  meaning  for  Cassim  ben  Halim  if 
they  reach  the  ears  of  the  French  authorities,  who  believe  him 
dead,"  said  Stephen,  quietly.  "Ben  Halim  was  only  a  dis- 
graced officer,  not  a  criminal,  until  he  conspired  against  the 
Government,  and  stole  a  great  position  which  belonged  to  an- 
other man.  Since  then,  prison  doors  are  open  for  him  if 
his  plottings  are  found  out." 

Unwittingly  Stephen  chose  words  which  were  as  daggers  in 
the  breast  of  the  Arab.  Although  made  without  knowledge  of 
the  secret  work  to  which  the  marabout  had  vowed  himself  and 


442  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

all  that  was  his,  the  young  man's  threat  sounded  like  a  hint 
so  terrible  in  its  meaning  that  Ben  Halim's  heart  turned  sudden- 
ly to  water.  He  saw  himself  exposed,  defeated,  hand  and  foot 
in  the  enemy's  power.  How  this  Roumi  had  wormed  out  the 
hidden  truth  he  could  not  conceive;  but  he  realized  on  the 
instant  that  the  situation  was  desperate,  and  his  brain  seemed 
to  him  to  become  a  delicate  and  intricate  piece  of  mechanism, 
moving  with  oiled  wheels.  All  the  genius  of  a  great  soldier 
and  a  great  diplomat  were  needed  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
and  if  he  could  not  call  such  inspiration  to  his  aid  he  was  lost. 
He  had  been  tempted  for  one  volcanic  second  to  stab  Stephen 
with  the  dagger  which  he  always  carried  under  his  burnous 
and  embroidered  vest,  but  a  lightning-flash  of  reason  bade 
him  hold  his  hand.  There  were  other  ways  —  there  must  be 
other  ways.  Fortunately  Maieddine  had  not  been  told  of  the 
Roumi's  presence  in  the  Zaoula,  and  need  not  learn  anything 
concerning  him  or  his  proposals  until  the  time  came  when  a 
friend  could  be  of  use  and  not  a  hindrance.  Even  in  this  mo- 
ment, when  he  saw  before  his  eyes  a  fiery  picture  of  ruin,  Ben 
Halim  realized  that  Maieddine's  passion  for  Victoria  Ray 
might  be  utilized  by  and  by,  for  the  second  time. 

Not  once  did  the  dark  eyes  falter  or  turn  from  the  enemy's, 
and  Stephen  could  not  help  admiring  the  Arab's  splendid 
self-control.  It  was  impossible  to  feel  contempt  for  Ben 
Halim,  even  for  Ben  Halim  trapped.  Stephen  had  talked 
with  an  air  of  cool  indifference,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  but 
in  one  pocket  was  a  revolver,  and  he  kept  his  fingers  on  it  as 
the  marabout  stood  facing  him  silently  after  the  ultimatum. 

"  I  have  listened  to  the  end,"  the  Arab  said  at  last,  "  because 
I  wished  to  hear  what  strange  folly  thou  hadst  got  in  thy  brain. 
But  now,  when  thou  hast  finished  apparently,  I  cannot  make 
head  or  tail  of  thy  accusations.  Of  a  man  named  Cassim 
ben  Halim  I  may  have  heard,  but  he  is  dead.  Thou  canst 
hardly  believe  in  truth  that  he  and  I  are  one;  but  even  if  thou 
dost  believe  it,  I  care  little,  for  if  thou  wert  unwise  enough  to 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  443 

go  with  such  a  story  to  my  masters  and  friends  the  French,  they 
could  bring  a  hundred  proofs  that  thy  tale  was  false,  and  they 
would  laugh  thee  to  scorn.  I  have  no  fear  of  anything  thou 
canst  do  against  me;  but  if  it  is  true  that  thou  and  thy  friend 
have  stolen  my  son,  rather  than  harm  should  come  to  him  who 
is  my  all  on  earth,  I  may  be  weak  enough  to  treat  with  thee." 

"I  have  brought  proof  that  the  boy  is  gone,"  returned 
Stephen.  For  the  moment,  he  tacitly  accepted  the  attitude 
which  the  marabout  chose  to  take  up.  "Let  the  fellow  save 
his  face  by  pretending  to  yield  entirely  for  the  boy's  sake," 
he  said  to  himself.  "What  can  it  matter  so  long  as  he  does 
yield?" 

In  the  pocket  with  the  revolver  was  a  letter  which  Sabine 
had  induced  Hassan  ben  Saad  to  write,  and  now  Stephen  pro- 
duced it.  The  writing  was  in  Arabic,  of  course;  but  Sabine, 
who  knew  the  language  well,  had  translated  every  word  for 
him  before  he  started  from  Oued  Tolga.  Stephen  knew, 
therefore,  that  the  boy's  uncle,  without  confessing  how  he  had 
strayed  from  duty,  admitted  that,  "by  an  incredible  mis- 
fortune," the  young  Mohammed  had  been  enticed  away  from 
him.  He  feared,  Hassan  ben  Saad  added,  to  make  a 
disturbance,  as  an  influential  friend — Captain  Sabine — advised 
him  to  inform  the  marabout  of  what  had  happened  before 
taking  public  action  which  the  child's  father  might  dis- 
approve. 

The  Arab  frowned  as  he  read  on,  not  wholly  because  of  his 
anger  with  the  boy's  guardian,  though  that  burned  in  his 
heart,  hot  as  a  new-kindled  fire,  and  could  be  extinguished  only 
by  revenge. 

"This  Captain  Sabine,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  know  slightly. 
He  called  upon  me  at  a  time  when  he  made  a  well  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Was  it  he  who  put  into  thine  head  these 
ridiculous  notions  concerning  a  dead  man?  I  warn  thee  to 
answer  truly  if  thou  wouldst  gain  anything  from  me." 

"My  countrymen   don't,   as   a  rule,  transact  business  by 


444  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

telling  diplomatic  lies,"  said  Stephen  smiling,  as  he  felt  that 
he  could  now  afford  to  smile.  "  Captain  Sabine  did  not  put 
the  notion  into  my  head." 

"  Hast  thou  spoken  of  it  to  him  ?  " 

Stephen  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  "I  do  not  see 
that  I'm  called  upon  to  answer  that  question.  All  I  v/ill 
say  is,  you  need  have  no  fear  of  Captain  Sabine  or  of  any  one 
else,  once  Miss  Ray  is  safely  out  of  this  place." 

The  marabout  turned  this  answer  over  quickly  m  his  mind. 
He  knew  that,  if  Sabine  or  any  Frenchman  suspected  his  iden- 
tity and  his  plans  for  the  future,  he  was  irretrievably  lost.  No 
private  consideration  would  induce  a  French  officer  to  spare 
him,  if  aware  that  he  hoped  eventually  to  overthrow  the  rule 
of  France  in  North  Africa.  This  being  the  case  (and 
believing  that  Knight  had  learned  of  the  plot) ,  he  reflected  that 
Sabine  could  not  have  been  taken  into  the  secret,  otherwise  the 
Englishman  dare  not  make  promises.  He  saw  too,  that  it 
would  have  been  impolitic  for  Knight  to  take  Sabine 
into  his  confidence.  A  Frenchman  in  the  secret  would  have 
ruined  this  coup  d'etat;  and,  beginning  to  respect  Stephen 
as  an  enemy,  he  decided  that  he  was  too  clever  to  be  in 
real  partnership  with  the  officer.  Ben  Halim's  growing 
conviction  was  that  his  wife,  Saidee,  had  told  Victoria  all  she 
knew  and  all  she  suspected,  and  that  the  girl  had  somehow 
contrived  to  smuggle  a  letter  out  of  theZaouia  to  her  English 
lover. 

The  distrust  and  dislike  he  had  long  felt  for  Saidee  suddenly 
burst  into  a  flame  of  hatred.  He  longed  to  crush  under  his 
foot  the  face  he  had  once  loved,  to  grind  out  its  beauty  with 
a  spurred  heel.  And  he  hated  the  girl,  too,  though  he  could 
not  punish  her  as  he  could  punish  Saidee,  for  he  must  have 
Maiieddine's  help  presently,  and  Mai'eddine  would  insist  that 
she  should  be  protected,  whatever  might  happen  to  others. 
But  he  was  beginning  to  see  light  ahead,  if  he  might 
take  it  for  granted  that  his  secret  was  suspected  by  no  more 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  445 

than  four  persons  —  Saidee,  Victoria,  and  the  two  Englishmen 
who  were  acting  for  the  girl. 

"I  see  by  this  letter  from  my  brother-in-law  that  it  is  even 
as  thou  sayest;  thou  and  thy  friend  together  have  committed 
the  cruel  wrong  of  which  thou  boastest,"  Ben  Halim  said  at 
last.  "A  father  robbed  of  his  one  son  is  as  a  stag  pinned  to 
earth  with  a  spear  through  his  heart.  He  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  hunter,  his  courage  ebbing  with  his  life-blood.  Had  this 
thing  been  done  when  thou  wert  here  before,  I  should  have 
been  powerless  to  pay  the  tribute,  for  the  lady  over  whom 
thou  claimst  a  right  was  not  within  my  gates.  Now,  I  admit, 
she  has  come.  If  she  wish  to  go  with  thee,  she  is  free  to  do  so. 
But  I  will  send  with  her  men  of  my  own,  to  travel  by  her  side, 
and  refuse  to  surrender  her  until  my  child  is  given  into  their 
hands." 

"That  is  easy  to  arrange,"  Stephen  agreed.  "I  will  tele- 
graph to  my  friend,  who  is  by  this  time  —  as  you  can  see  by 
your  letter  —  two  days'  journey  away  or  more.  He  will 
return  with  your  son,  and  an  escort,  but  only  a  certain  distance. 
I  will  meet  him  at  some  place  appointed,  and  we  will  hand  the 
boy  over  to  your  men." 

"  It  will  be  better  that  the  exchange  should  be  made  here," 
said  the  marabout. 

"  I  can  see  why  it  might  be  so  from  your  point  of  view,  but 
that  view  is  not  ours.  You  have  too  much  power  here,  and 
frankly,  I  don't  trust  you.  You'll  admit  that  I'd  be  a  fool 
if  I  did!  The  meeting  must  be  at  some  distance  from  your 
Zaouia." 

The  marabout  raised  his  eyebrows  superciliously.  They 
said — "  So  thou  art  afraid ! "  But  Stephen  was  not  to  be  taunted 
into  an  imprudence  where  Victoria's  safety  was  at  stake. 

"Those  are  our  terms,"  he  repeated. 

"Very  well,  I  accept,"  said  the  Arab.  "Thou  mayest  send 
a  message  to  the  lady,  inviting  her  to  leave  my  house  with  thee; 
and  I  assure  thee,  that  in  any  case  I  would  have  no  wish  to 


446  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

keep  her,  other  than  the  desire  of  hospitality.  Thou  canst 
take  her  at  once,  if  she  will  go;  and  passing  through  the  city, 
with  her  and  my  men,  thou  canst  send  thy  telegram.  Appoint 
as  a  meeting  place  the  Bordj  of  Toudja,  one  day's  march  from 
the  town  of  Oued  Tolga.  When  my  men  have  the  child  in 
their  keeping,  thou  wilt  be  free  to  go  in  peace  with  the  girl  and 
thy  friend." 

"I  should  be  glad  if  thou  wouldst  send  for  her,  and  let  me 
talk  with  her  here,"  Stephen  suggested. 

"No,  that  cannot  be,"  the  marabout  answered  decidedly. 
"When  she  is  out  of  my  house,  I  wash  my  hands  of  her;  but 
while  she  is  under  my  roof  it  would  be  shameful  that  she 
should  speak,  even  in  my  presence,  with  a  strange  man." 

Stephen  was  ready  to  concede  a  point,  if  he  could  get  his 
wish  in  another  way.  "Give  me  paper,  then,  and  I  will  write 
to  the  lady,"  he  said.  "There  will  be  an  answer,  and  it  must 
be  brought  to  me  quickly,  for  already  I  have  stopped  longer  than 
I  expected,  and  Captain  Sabine,  who  knows  I  have  come  to 
call  upon  you  and  fetch  a  friend,  may  be  anxious." 

He  spoke  his  last  words  with  a  certain  emphasis,  knowing 
that  Ben  Halim  would  understand  the  scarcely  veiled  threat. 

The  marabout  went  into  the  next  room,  and  got  some  French 
writing  paper.  Stephen  wrote  a  hasty  note,  begging  Victoria 
to  leave  the  Zaouia  under  his  care.  He  would  take  her,  he 
said,  to  Lady  MacGregor,  who  had  come  to  Touggourt  on 
purpose  to  be  at  hand  if  wanted.  He  wrote  in  English,  but 
because  he  was  sure  that  Ben  Halim  knew  the  language,  he 
said  nothing  to  Victoria  about  her  sister.  Only  he  mentioned, 
as  if  carelessly,  that  he  had  brought  a  good  camel  with  a  com- 
fortable bassour  large  enough  for  two. 

When  the  letter  was  in  an  envelope,  addressed  to  Miss  Ray, 
the  marabout  took  it  from  Stephen  and  handed  it  to  some- 
body outside  the  door,  no  doubt  one  of  the  three  watchers. 
There  were  mumbled  instructions  in  Arabic,  and  ten  minutes 
later  an  answer  came  back.  Stephen  could  have  shouted  for 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  447 

joy  at  sight  of  Victoria's  handwriting.  There  were  only  a  few 
lines,  in  pencil,  but  he  knew  that  he  would  keep  them  always, 
with  her  first  letter. 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  you're  here!"  she  wrote.  "By 
and  by  I  hope  to  thank  you  —  but  of  course  I  can't  come  with- 
out my  sister.  She  is  wretched,  and  wants  to  leave  the  man 
who  seems  to  her  no  longer  a  husband,  but  she  thinks  he 
will  not  want  to  let  her  go.  Tell  him  that  it  must  be  both  of 
us,  or  neither.  Or  if  you  feel  it  would  be  better,  give  him  this 
to  read,  and  ask  him  to  send  an  answer." 

Stephen  guessed  why  the  girl  had  written  in  French.  She 
had  fancied  that  the  marabout  would  not  choose  to  admit  his 
knowledge  of  English,  and  he  admired  the  quickness  of  her 
wit  in  a  sudden  emergency. 

As  he  handed  the  letter  to  the  Arab,  Stephen  would  have 
given  a  great  deal  to  see  the  face  under  the  black  mask.  He 
could  read  nothing  of  the  man's  mind  through  the  downcast 
eyelids,  with  their  long  black  fringe  of  close-set  lashes.  And 
he  knew  that  Ben  Halim  must  have  finished  the  short 
letter  at  least  sixty  seconds  before  he  chose  to  look  up  from  the 
paper. 

"It  is  best,"  the  marabout  said  slowly,  "that  the  two  sisters 
go  together.  A  man  of  Islam  has  the  right  to  repudiate  a  woman 
who  gives  him  no  children,  but  I  have  been  merciful.  Now 
an  opportunity  has  come  to  rid  myself  of  a  burden,  without 
turning  adrift  one  who  is  helpless  and  friendless.  For  my 
son's  sake  I  have  granted  thy  request;  for  my  own  sake  I 
grant  the  girl's  request:  but  both,  only  on  one  condition  —  that 
thou  swearest  in  the  name  of  thy  God,  and  upon  the  head  of 
thy  father,  never  to  breathe  with  thy  lips,  or  put  with  thy  hand 
upon  paper,  the  malicious  story  about  me,  at  which  thou  hast 
to-day  hinted;  that  thou  enforce  upon  the  two  sisters  the  same 
silence,  which,  before  going,  they  must  promise  me  to  guard 
for  ever.  Though  there  is  no  foundation  for  the  wicked  fabri- 
cation, and  no  persons  of  intelligence  who  know  me  would 


448  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

believe  it,  even  if  I  had  no  proof,  still  for  a  man  who  holds  a 
place  of  spiritual  eminence,  evil  gossip  is  a  disgrace." 

"I  promise  for  myself,  for  my  friend,  and  for  both  the  ladies, 
silence  on  that  subject,  so  long  as  we  may  live.  I  swear  before 
my  God,  and  on  the  head  of  my  dead  father,  that  I  will  keep 
my  word,  if  you  keep  yours  to  me,"  said  Stephen,  who  knew 
only  half  the  secret.  Yet  he  was  astonished  at  gaining  his 
point  so  easily.  He  had  expected  more  trouble.  Nevertheless, 
he  did  not  see  how  the  marabout  could  manage  to  play  him  false, 
if  he  wanted  to  get  his  boy  and  hide  the  truth  about  himself. 

"I  am  content,"  said  the  Arab.  "And  thou  shouldst  be 
content,  since  thou  hast  driven  a  successful  bargain,  and  it 
is  as  if  the  contract  between  us  were  signed  in  my  heart's 
blood.  Now,  I  will  leave  thee.  When  the  ladies  are  ready, 
thou  shalt  be  called  by  one  of  the  men  who  will  be  of  their  escort. 
It  is  not  necessary  that  thou  and  I  meet  again,  since  we  have, 
I  hope,  finished  our  business  together,  once  and  for  ever." 


"Why  is  it  that  he  lets  me  go,  without  even  trying  to  make 
me  swear  never  to  tell  what  I  know?"  Saidee  asked  Victoria, 
while  all  in  haste  and  in  confusion  they  put  together  a  few 
things  for  the  long  journey.  Saidee  packed  the  little  volumes 
of  her  diary,  with  trembling  fingers,  and  looked  a  frightened 
question  at  her  sister. 

"I'm  thankful  that  he  doesn't  ask  us,"  Victoria  answered, 
"for  we  couldn't  promise  not  to  tell,  unless  he  would  vow 
never  to  do  the  dreadful  things  you  say  he  plans  —  lead  a 
great  rising,  and  massacre  the  French.  Even  to  escape,  one 
couldn't  make  a  promise  which  might  cost  thousands  of  lives." 

"We  could  perhaps  evade  a  promise,  yet  seem  to  do  what 
he  asked,"  said  Saidee,  who  had  learned  subtle  ways  in  a 
school  of  subtlety.  "I'm  terrified  that  he  doesn't  ask.  Why 
isn't  he  afraid  to  let  us  go,  without  any  assurances  ?" 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  449 

"He  knows  that  because  you've  been  his  wife,  we  wouldn't 
betray  him  unless  we  were  forced  to,  in  order  to  prevent  mas- 
sacres," Victoria  tried  to  reassure  her  sister.  "And  perhaps 
for  the  sake  of  getting  his  boy  back,  he's  willing  to  renounce  all 
his  horrible  plans." 

"Perhaps  — since  he  worships  the  child,"  Safciee  half  agreed. 
"Yet  — it  doesn't  seem  like  Cassim  to  be  so  easily  cowed,  and 
to  give  up  the  whole  ambition  of  his  life,  with  scarcely  a  struggle, 
even  for  his  child." 

"You  said,  when  you  told  me  how  you  had  written  to  Mr. 
Knight,  that  Cassim  would  be  forced  to  yield,  if  they  took  the 
boy,  and  so  the  end  would  justify  the  means." 

"Yes.  It  was  a  great  card  to  play.  But  — but  I  expected 
him  to  make  me  take  a  solemn  oath  never  to  tell  what  I 
know." 

"Don't  let's  think  of  it,"  said  Victoria.  "Let's  just  be 
thankful  that  we're  going,  and  get  ready  as  quickly  as  we  can, 
lest  he  should  change  his  mind  at  the  last  moment." 

"Or  lest  Maieddine  should  find  out,"  Saidee  added.  "But, 
if  Cassim  really  means  us  to  go,  he  won't  let  Maieddine  find  out. 
He  will  thank  Allah  and  the  Prophet  for  sending  the  fever 
that  keeps  Maieddine  in  his  bedroom." 

"Poor  Maieddine!"  Victoria  half  whispered.  In  her  heart 
lurked  kindness  for  the  man  who  had  so  desperately  loved  her, 
even  though  love  had  driven  him  to  the  verge  of  treachery. 
"I  hope  he'll  forget  all  about  me  and  be  happy,"  she  said. 
And  then,  because  she  was  happy  herself,  and  the  future  seemed 
bright,  she  forgot  Maieddine,  and  thought  only  of  another. 


XLVHI 

i 

THAT  must  be  the  bordj  of  Toudja,  at  last,"  Victoria 
said,    looking    out    between    the    curtains    of    her 
bassour.      "Aren't  you    thankful,    Saidee?     You'll 
feel  happier  and  freer,  when   Cassim's   men   have 
gone  back  to  the  Zaoui'a,  and  our  ransom  has  been  paid  by  the 
return  of  the  little  boy.     That  volume  of  your  life  will  be  closed 
for  ever  and  ever,  and  you  can  begin  the  next." 

Saidee  was  silent.  She  did  not  want  to  think  that  the  volume 
was  closed  for  ever,  because  in  it  there  was  one  chapter  which, 
unless  it  could  be  added  to  the  new  volume,  would  leave  the 
rest  of  the  book  without  interest  for  her.  Half  involuntarily 
she  touched  the  basket  which  Honore  Sabine  had  given  her 
when  they  parted  in  the  desert  city  of  Oued  Tolga  early  that 
morning.  In  the  basket  were  two  carrier  pigeons.  She  had 
promised  to  send  one  from  the  Bordj  of  Toudja,  and  another 
at  the  end  of  the  next  day's  journey.  After  that  she  would 
be  within  reach  of  the  telegraph.  Her  reason  told  her  it  was 
well  that  Sabine  was  not  with  her  now,  yet  she  wished  for  him, 
and  could  not  be  glad  of  his  absence.  Perhaps  she  would  never 
see  him  again.  Who  could  tell?  It  would  have  been  unwise 
for  Sabine,  as  an  officer  and  as  a  man,  to  leave  his  duty  to 
travel  with  her:  she  could  see  that,  yet  she  was  secretly  angry 
with  Victoria,  because  Victoria,  happy  herself,  seemed  to 
have  little  sympathy  with  her  sister's  hopes.  The  girl  did  not 
like  to  talk  about  Sabine,  or  discuss  any  connection  he  might 
possibly  have  with  Saidee's  future;  and  because  Victoria  was 
silent  on  that  subject,  Saidee  revenged  herself  by  being  reticent 
on  others.  Victoria  guessed  the  reason,  and  her  heart  yearned 

450 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  451 

over  Saidee;  but  this  was  something  of  which  they  could  not 
talk.  Some  day,  perhaps,  Saidee  would  understand,  and  they 
would  be  drawn  together  again  more  closely  than  before. 

"There's  Toudja,"  Stephen  said,  as  the  girl  looked  out  again 
from  the  bassour.  Whenever  he  saw  her  face,  framed  thus  by 
the  dark  red  curtains,  his  heart  beat,  as  if  her  beauty  were  new 
to  him,  seen  that  instant  for  the  first  time.  This  was  the  flood- 
tide  of  his  life,  now  when  they  travelled  through  the  desert 
together,  he  and  she,  and  she  depended  upon  his  help  and  pro- 
tection. For  to-day,  and  the  few  more  days  until  the  desert 
journey  should  come  to  an  end  at  Biskra,  the  tide  would  be  at 
flood :  then  it  would  ebb,  never  to  rise  again,  because  at  Algiers 
they  must  part,  she  to  go  her  way,  he  to  go  his;  and  his  way 
would  lead  him  to  Margot  Lorenzi.  After  Algiers  there  would 
be  no  more  happiness  for  him,  and  he  did  not  hope  for  it;  but, 
right  or  wrong,  he  was  living  passionately  in  every  moment  now. 

Victoria  smiled  down  from  the  high  bassour  at  the  dark, 
sunburnt  face  of  the  rider.  How  different  it  was  from  the  dark 
face  of  another  rider  who  had  looked  up  at  her,  between  her 
curtains,  when  she  had  passed  that  way  before!  There  was 
only  one  point  of  resemblance  between  the  two:  the  light  of 
love  in  the  eyes.  Victoria  could  not  help  recognizing  that  like- 
ness. She  could  not  help  being  sure  that  Stephen  loved  her, 
and  the  thought  made  her  feel  safe,  as  well  as  happy.  There 
had  been  a  sense  of  danger  in  the  knowledge  of  Maieddine's 
love. 

"The  tower  in  the  bordj  is  ruined,"  she  said,  looking  across 
the  waving  sea  of  dunes  to  a  tall  black  object  like  the  crooked 
finger  of  a  giant  pointing  up  out  of  the  gold  into  the  blue.  "It 
wasn't  so  when  I  passed  before." 

"No,"  Stephen  answered,  welcoming  any  excuse  for  talk 
with  her.  "  But  it  was  when  we  came  from  Touggourt.  Sabine 
told  me  there'd  been  a  tremendous  storm  in  the  south  just  before 
we  left  Algiers,  and  the  heliograph  tower  at  Toudja  was  struck 
by  lightning.  They'll  build  it  up  again  soon,  for  all  these 


452  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

heliograph  stations  are  supposed  to  be  kept  in  order,  in  case 
of  any  revolt;  for  the  first  thing  a  rebellious  tribe  does  is  to  cut 
the  telegraph  wires.  If  that  happened,  the  only  way  of  com- 
munication would  be  by  heliograph;  and  Sabine  says  that  from 
Touggourt  to  Tombouctou  this  chain  of  towers  has  been  arranged 
always  on  elevations,  so  that  signals  can  be  seen  across  great 
stretches  of  desert:  and  inside  the  walls  of  a  bordj  whenever  pos- 
sible, for  defence.  But  the  South  is  so  contented  and  peace- 
ful now,  I  don't  suppose  the  Government  will  get  out  of  breath 
in  its  hurry  to  restore  the  damage  here." 

At  the  sound  of  Sabine's  name  Saidee  had  instantly  roused 
to  attention,  and  as  Stephen  spoke  calmly  of  the  peace  and 
content  in  the  South,  she  smiled.  Then  suddenly  her  face 
grew  eager. 

"Did  the  marabout  appoint  Toudja  as  the  place  to  make 
the  exchange,  or  was  it  you?"  she  asked,  over  Victoria's 
shoulder. 

"The  marabout,"  said  Stephen.  "I  fell  in  with  the  idea 
because  I'd  already  made  objections  to  several,  and  I  could  see 
none  to  Toudja.  It's  a  day's  journey  farther  north  than  the 
Zaouia,  and  I  remembered  the  bordj  being  kept  by  two  French- 
men, who  would  be  of  use  if "  He  checked  himself,  not  wish- 
ing to  hint  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  guard  against  treason. 
"If  we  had  to  stop  for  the  night,"  he  amended,  "no  doubt  the 
bordj  would  be  better  kept  than  some  others.  And  we  shall 
have  to  stop,  you  know,  because  my  friend,  Caird,  can't  arrive 
from  Touggourt  with  the  boy  till  late,  at  best." 

"Did — the  marabout  seem  bent  on  making  this  bordj  the 
rendezvous?"  Saidee  asked. 

Stephen's  eyes  met  hers  in  a  quick,  involuntary  glance, 
then  turned  to  the  ruined  tower.  He  saw  it  against  the  north- 
ern sky  as  they  came  from  the  south,  and,  blackened  by  the 
lightning,  it  accentuated  the  desolation  of  the  dunes.  In  itself, 
it  looked  sinister  as  a  broken  gibbet.  "If  the  marabout  had 
a  strong  preference  for  the  place,  he  didn't  betray  it,"  was 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  453 

the  only  answer  he  could  make.     "Have  you  a  special  reason 
for  asking?" 

"No,"  Saidee  echoed.  "No  special  reason." 
But  Stephen  and  Victoria  both  guessed  what  was  in  her 
mind.  As  they  looked  at  the  tower  all  three  thought  of  the 
Arabs  who  formed  their  caravan.  There  were  six,  sent  cut 
from  the  Zaoui'a  to  take  back  the  little  Mohammed.  They 
belonged  body  and  soul  to  the  marabout.  At  the  town  of 
Oued  Tolga,  Stephen  had  added  a  third  to  his  escort  of  two; 
but  though  they  were  good  guides,  brave,  upstanding  fellows,  he 
knew  they  would  turn  from  him  if  there  were  any  question 
between  Roumis  and  men  of  their  own  religion.  If  an  acci- 
dent had  happened  to  the  child  on  the  way  back  from  Toug- 
gourt,  or  if  any  other  difficulty  arose,  in  which  their  interest 
clashed  with  his,  he  would  have  nine  Arabs  against  him.  He 
and  Caird,  with  the  two  Highlanders,  if  they  came,  would  be 
alone,  no  matter  how  large  might  be  Nevill's  Arab  escort. 
Stephen  hardly  knew  why  these  thoughts  pressed  upon  him  sud- 
denly, with  new  insistence,  as  he  saw  the  tower  rise  dark  against 
the  sky,  jagged  as  if  it  had  been  hacked  with  a  huge,  dull  knife. 
He  had  known  from  the  first  what  risks  they  ran.  Nevill  and 
he  and  Sabine  had  talked  them  all  over,  and  decided  that, 
on  the  whole,  there  was  no  great  danger  of  treachery  from  the 
marabout,  who  stood  to  lose  too  much,  to  gain  too  little,  by 
breaking  faith.  As  for  Mai'eddine,  he  was  ill  with  fever,  so 
the  sisters  said,  and  Saidee  and  Victoria  believed  that  he  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  marabout's  bargain.  Altogether, 
circumstances  seemed  to  have  combined  in  their  favour.  Ben 
Halim's  wife  was  naturally  suspicious  and  fearful,  after  her 
long  martyrdom,  but  there  was  no  new  reason  for  uneasiness. 
Only,  Stephen  reminded  himself,  he  must  not  neglect  the 
slightest  wavering  of  the  weather-vane.  And  in  every  shadow 
he  must  look  for  a  sign. 

They  had  not  made  a  hurried  march  from  the  desert  city,  for 
Stephen  and  Sabine  had  calculated  the  hour  at  which  Nevill 


454  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

might  have  received  the  summons,  and  the  time  he  would  take 
on  the  return  journey.  It  was  possible,  Lady  MacGregor  being 
what  she  was,  that  she  might  have  rewired  the  telegram  to  a 
certain  bordj,  the  only  telegraph  station  between  Touggourt 
and  Oued  Tolga.  If  she  had  done  this,  and  the  message  had 
caught  Nevill,  many  hours  would  be  saved.  Instead  of  getting 
to  the  bordj  about  midnight,  tired  out  with  a  long,  quick  march, 
he  might  be  expected  before  dark.  Even  so,  Stephen  would  be 
well  ahead,  for,  as  the  caravan  came  to  the  gate  of  the  bordj. 
it  was  only  six  o'clock,  blazing  afternoon  still,  and  hot  as  mid- 
day, with  the  fierce,  golden  heat  of  the  desert  towards  the  end 
of  May. 

The  big  iron  gates  were  wide  open,  and  nothing  stirred  in 
the  quadrangle  inside;  but  as  Stephen  rode  in,  one  of  the  French- 
men he  remembered  slouched  out  of  a  room  where  the  wooden 
shutters  of  the  window  were  closed  for  coolness.  His  face 
was  red,  and  he  yawned  as  he  came  forward,  rubbing  his  eyes 
as  if  he  had  been  "asleep.  But  he  welcomed  Stephen  politely, 
and  seeing  that  a  good  profit  might  be  expected  from  so  large 
a  party,  he  roused  himself  to  look  pleased. 

"I  must  have  a  room  for  two  ladies,"  said  Stephen,  "and  I 
am  expecting  a  friend  with  a  small  caravan,  to  arrive  from  the 
north.  However,  six  of  my  Arabs  will  go  back  when  he  comes. 
You  must  do  the  best  you  can  for  us,  but  nothing  is  of  any  im- 
portance compared  to  the  ladies'  comfort." 

"Certainly,  I  will  do  my  best,"  the  keeper  of  the  bordj  as- 
sured him.  "But  as  you  see,  our  accommodation  is  humble.  It 
is  strained  when  we  have  four  or  five  officers  for  the  night,  and 
though  I  and  my  brother  have  been  in  this  God-forsaken  place 
—  worse  luck!  — for  nine  years,  we  have  never  yet  had  to  put 
up  ladies.  Unfortunately,  too,  my  brother  is  away,  gone  to 
Touggourt  to  buy  stores,  and  I  have  only  one  Arab  to  help  me. 
Still,  though  I  have  forgotten  many  useful  things  in  this  banish- 
ment, I  have  not  forgotten  how  to  cook,  as  more  than  one  French 
officer  could  tell  you." 


THE   GOLDEN   SILENCE  455 

"One  has  told  me,"  said  Stephen.  "Captain  Sabine,  of 
the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique." 

"Ah,  ce  beau  sabreur!  He  stopped  with  me  on  his  way  to 
Oued  Tolga,  for  the  well-making.  If  he  has  recommended 
me,  I  shall  be  on  my  mettle,  Monsieur." 

The  heavy  face  brightened;  but  there  were  bags  under  the 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  the  man's  breath  reeked  of  alcohol.  Ste- 
phen was  sorry  the  brother  was  away.  He  had  been  the  more 
alert  and  prepossessing  of  the  two. 

As  they  talked,  the  quadrangle  of  the  bordj  —  which  was 
but  an  inferior  caravanserai  —  had  waked  to  animation.  The 
landlord's  one  Arab  servant  had  appeared,  like  a  rat  out  of  a 
hole,  to  help  the  new  arrivals  with  their  horses  and  camels. 
The  caravans  had  filed  in,  and  the  marabout's  men  and  Ste- 
phen's guides  had  dismounted. 

None  of  these  had  seen  the  place  since  the  visitation  of  the 
storm,  and  one  or  two  from  the  Zaoui'a  had  perhaps  never  been 
so  far  north  before,  yet  they  looked  at  the  broken  tower  with 
grave  interest  rather  than  curiosity.  Stephen  wondered  whether 
they  had  been  primed  with  knowledge  before  starting,  or  if 
their  lack  of  emotion  were  but  Arab  stoicism. 

As  usual  in  a  caravanserai  or  large  bordj,  all  round, the  square 
courtyard  were  series  of  rooms:  a  few  along  one  wall  for  the 
accommodation  of  French  officers  and  rich  Arabs,  furnished  with 
elementary  European  comforts;  opposite,  a  dining-room  and 
kitchen;  to  the  left,  the  quarters  of  the  two  landlords  and  their 
servants;  along  the  fourth  wall,  on  either  side  of  the  great  iron 
gate,  sheds  for  animals,  untidily  littered  with  straw  and  refuse, 
infested  with  flies.  Further  disorder  was  added  by  the  debris 
from  the  broken  heliograph-tower  which  had  been  only  par- 
tially cleared  away  since  the  storm.  Other  towers  there  were, 
also;  three  of  them,  all  very  low  and  squat,  jutting  out  from 
each  corner  of  the  high,  flat-topped  wall,  and  loopholed  as  usual, 
so  that  men  stationed  inside  could  defend  against  an  escalade. 
These  small  towers  were  intact,  though  the  roof  of  one  was 


456  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

covered  with  rubbish  from  the  ruined  shell  rising  above;  and 
looking  up  at  this,  Stephen  saw  that  much  had  fallen  away 
since  he  passed  with  Nevill,  going  to  Oued  Tolga.  One  entire 
wall  had  been  sliced  off,  leaving  the  inside  of  the  tower,  with 
the  upper  chamber,  visible  from  below.  It  was  like  looking 
into  a  half -dissected  body,  and  the  effect  was  depressing. 

"If  we  should  be  raided  by  Arabs  now,"  said  the  landlord, 
laughing,  as  he  saw  Stephen  glance  at  the  tower,  "we  should 
have  to  pray  for  help:  there  would  be  no  other  means  of  getting 
it." 

"You  don't  seem  to  worry  much,"  replied  Stephen. 

"No,  for  the  Arabs  in  these  parts  are  sheep  nowadays,"  said 
the  Frenchman.  "Like  sheep,  they  might  follow  a  leader;  but 
where  is  the  leader  ?  It  is  different  among  the  Touaregs,  where 
I  spent  some  time  before  I  came  here.  They  are  warriors  by 
nature,  but  even  they  are  quiet  of  late." 

"Do  you  ever  see  any  here  ?"  Stephen  asked. 

"A  few  occasionally,  going  to  Touggourt,  but  seldom.  They 
are  formidable-looking  fellows,  in  their  indigo-coloured  masks, 
which  stain  their  skin  blue,  but  they  are  tractable  enough  if  one 
does  not  offend  them." 

There  was  only  one  room  which  could  be  made  passably 
habitable  for  Saidee  and  Victoria,  and  they  went  into  it,  out  of 
the  hot  sun,  as  soon  as  it  could  be  prepared.  The  little  lug- 
gage they  had  brought  went  with  them,  and  the  basket  con- 
taining the  two  carrier  pigeons.  Saidee  fed  the  birds,  and 
scribbled  a  few  words  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  to  tell  Sabine  that 
they  had  arrived  safely  at  Toudja.  On  second  thoughts,  she 
added  a  postscript,  while  Victoria  unpacked  what  they  needed 
for  the  night.  "He  chose  the  rendezvous,"  Saidee  wrote.  "I 
suppose  I'm  too  superstitious,  but  I  can't  help  wondering  if 
his  choice  had  anything  to  do  with  the  ruined  tower?  Don't 
be  anxious,  though.  You  will  probably  receive  another  line 
to-morrow  night,  to  say  that  we've  reached  the  next  stage,  and 
all's  well." 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  457 

"I  suppose  you  think  I'm  doing  wrong  to  write  to  him?"  she 
said  to  Victoria,  as  she  took  one  of  the  pigeons  out  of  its  basket. 

"No,"  the  girl  answered.  "Why  shouldn't  you  write  to  say 
you're  safe  ?  He's  your  friend,  and  you're  going  far  away." 

Saidee  almost  wished  that  Victoria  had  scolded  her.  With- 
out speaking  again,  she  began  to  fasten  her  letter  under  the 
bird's  wing,  but  gave  a  little  cry,  for  there  was  blood  on  her 
fingers.  "Oh,  he's  hurt  himself  somehow!"  she  exclaimed. 
"He  won't  be  able  to  fly,  I'm  afraid.  What  shall  I  do?  I 
must  send  the  other  one.  And  yet  —  if  I  do,  there'll  be  nothing 
for  to-morrow." 

"Won't  you  wait  until  after  Mr.  Caird  has  come,  and  you 
can  tell  about  the  little  boy?"  Victoria  suggested. 

"He  mayn't  arrive  till  very  late,  and  — I  promised  Captain 
Sabine  that  he  should  hear  to-night." 

"  But  think  how  quickly  a  pigeon  flies !  Surely  it  can  go  in 
less  than  half  the  time  we  would  take,  riding  up  and  down 
among  the  dunes." 

"  Oh,  much  less  than  half !  Captain  Sabine  said  that  from 
the  bordj  of  Toudja  the  pigeon  would  come  to  him  in  an  hour 
and  a  half,  or  two  at  most." 

"Then  wait  a  little  longer.  Somehow  I  feel  you'll  be  glad 
if  you  do." 

Saidee  looked  quickly  at  the  girl.  "You  make  me  super- 
stitious," she  said. 

"Why?" 

"  With  your  '  feelings '  about  things.  They're  almost  always 
light.  I'm  afraid  of  them.  I  shouldn't  dare  send  the  pigeon 
now,  for  fear " 

"  For  fear  of  what  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  told  you  .that  you  made  me  supersti- 
tious." 

Stephen  stood  between  the  open  gates  of  the  bordj,  looking 
north,  whence  Nevill  should  come.  The  desert  was  empty,  a 
great,  waving  stretch  of  gold,  but  a  caravan  might  be  engulfed 


408  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

among  the  dunes.  Any  moment  horses  or  camels  might  come 
in  sight;  and  he  was  not  anxious  about  Nevill  or  the  boy.  It 
was  impossible  that  they  could  have  been  cut  off  by  an  attack- 
ing party  from  the  Zaouiia.  Captain  Sabine  and  he,  Stephen, 
had  kept  too  keen  a  watch  for  that  to  happen,  for  the  Zaoui'a 
lay  south  of  Oued  Tolga  the  city. 

Others  besides  himself  were  searching  the  sea  of  sand.  One 
of  his  own  guides  was  standing  outside  the  gates,  talking  with 
two  of  the  marabout's  men,  and  looking  into  the  distance.  But 
rather  oddly,  it  seemed  to  him,  their  faces  were  turned  south- 
ward, until  the  guide  said  something  to  the  others.  Then, 
slowly,  they  faced  towards  the  north.  Stephen  remembered 
how  he  had  told  himself  to  neglect  no  sign.  Had  he  just  seen 
a  sign? 

For  some  moments  he  did  not  look  at  the  Arabs.  Then, 
glancing  quickly  at  the  group,  he  saw  that  the  head  man  sent 
by  the  marabout  was  talking  emphatically  to  the  guide  from 
Oued  Tolga,  the  city.  Again,  their  eyes  flashed  to  the  Roumi, 
before  he  had  time  to  turn  away,  and  without  hesitation  the 
head  man  from  the  Zaoui'a  came  a  few  steps  towards  him.  "  Sidi, 
we  see  horses,"  he  said,  in  broken  French.  "The  caravan 
thou  dost  expect  is  there,"  and  he  pointed. 

Stephen  had  very  good  eyesight,  but  he  saw  nothing,  and  said 
so. 

"  We  Arabs  are  used  to  looking  across  great  distances,"  the 
man  answered.  "  Keep  thy  gaze  steadily  upon  the  spot  where 
I  point,  and  presently  thou  wilt  see." 

It  was  as  he  prophesied.  Out  of  a  blot  of  shadow  among 
the  tawny  dunes  crawled  some  dark  specks,  which  might  have 
been  particles  of  the  shadow  itself.  They  moved,  and  gradually 
increased  in  size.  By  and  by  Stephen  could  count  seven  separ- 
ate specks.  It  must  be  Nevill  and  the  boy,  and  Stephen  won- 
dered if  he  had  added  two  more  Arabs  to  the  pair  who  had  gone 
back  with  him  from  Oued  Tolga,  towards  Touggourt. 

"Hurrah  for  Lady  MacGregor!"  the  watcher  said  under  his 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  459 

breath.  "She  wired  on  my  telegram,  and  caught  him  before 
he'd  passed  the  last  station.  I  might  have  known  she  would, 
the  glorious  old  darling!"  He  hurried  inside  the  bordj  to 
knock  at  the  ladies'  door,  and  tell  the  news.  "They're  in 
sight!"  he  cried.  "Would  you  like  to  come  outside  the  gate 
and  look  ?  " 

Instantly  the  door  opened,  and  the  sisters  appeared.  Vic- 
toria looked  flushed  and  happy,  but  Saidee  was  pale,  almost 
haggard  in  comparison  with  the  younger  girl.  Both  were  in 
Arab  dress  still,  having  nothing  else,  even  if  they  had  wished 
to  change;  and  as  she  came  out,  Saidee  mechanically  drew  the 
long  blue  folds  of  her  veil  closely  over  her  face.  Custom  had 
made  this  a  habit  which  it  would  be  hard  to  break. 

All  three  went  out  together,  and  the  Arabs,  standing  in  a 
group,  turned  at  the  sound  of  their  voices.  Again  they  had 
been  looking  southward.  Stephen  looked  also,  but  the  dazzle 
of  the  declining  sun  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  seem  to  notice  anything,"  said  Saidee  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What  is  there  to  notice  ?  "  he  asked  in  the  same  tone. 

"  A  big  caravan  coming  from  the  south.     Can't  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  No.     I  see  nothing." 

"  You  haven't  stared  at  the  desert  for  eight  years,  as  I  have. 
There  must  be  —  eighteen  or  twenty  men." 

"  Do  you  think  they're  from  the  Zaouia  ?  "  asked  Victoria. 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  We  can't  know  till  they're  very  close,  and 
then- 

"  Nevill  Caird  will  get  here  first,"  Stephen  said,  half  to  him- 
self. "You  can  see  five  horses  and  two  camels  plainly  now. 
They're  travelling  fast." 

"Those  Arabs  have  seen  the  others,"  Saidee  murmured. 
"  But  they  don't  want  us  to  know  they're  thinking  about  them." 

"Even  if  men  are  coming  from  the  Zaoui'a,"  said  Stephen, 
"  it  may  easily  be  that  they've  only  been  sent  as  an  extra  escort 
for  the  boy,  owing  to  his  father's  anxiety." 

"Yes,  it  may  be  only  that,"  Saidee  admitted.     "Still,  I'm 


460  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

glad "  She  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  But  she  was 

thinking  about  the  carrier  pigeon,  and  Victoria's  advice. 

All  three  looked  northward,  watching  the  seven  figures  on 
horseback,  in  the  far  distance;  but  now  and  then,  when  they 
could  hope  to  do  so  without  being  noticed  by  the  Arabs,  they 
stole  a  hasty  glance  in  the  other  direction.  "  The  caravan  has 
stopped,"  Saidee  declared  at  last.  "In  the  shadow  of  a  big 
dune." 

"I  see,  now,"  said  Stephen. 

"And  I,"  added  Victoria. 

"Perhaps  after  all,  it's  just  an  ordinary  caravan,"  Saidee 
said  more  hopefully.  "  Many  nomads  come  north  at  this  time 
of  year.  They  may  be  making  their  camp  now.  Anyway, 
it  s  certain  they  haven't  moved  for  some  time." 

And  still  they  had  not  moved,  when  Nevill  Caird  was  close 
enough  to  the  bordj  for  a  shout  of  greeting  to  be  heard. 

"  There  are  two  of  the  strangest-looking  creatures  with  him ! " 
cried  Saidee.  "  What  can  they  be  —  on  camels ! " 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Victoria,  "  it's  those  men  in  kilts  who 
waited  on  the  table  at  Mr.  Caird 's  house! " 

"Hurrah  for  Lady  MacGregor  again!"  laughed  Stephen. 
"  It's  the  twins,  Angus  and  Hamish.  He  pulled  off  his  panama 
hat  and  waved  it,  shouting  to  his  friend  in  joy.  "We're  a 
regiment!"  he  exclaimed  gaily. 


XLIX 

THE  boy  Mohammed  was  proud  and  very  happy.  He 
had  not  been  in  a  motor-car,  for  he  had  not  got  to 
Touggourt;  but  it  was  glorious  to  have  travelled  far 
north,  almost  out  of  the  dunes,  and  not  only  to  have 
seen  giant  women  in  short  skirts  with  bare  legs,  but  not  to  be 
afraid  of  them,  as  the  grown-up  Arabs  were.  The  giant  women 
were  Hamish  and  Angus,  and  it  was  a  great  thing  to  know  them, 
and  to  be  able  toexplainthem  to  his  father's  men  from  the  Zaoui'a. 
He  was  a  handsome  little  fellow,  with  a  face  no  darker  than 
old  ivory,  and  heavily  lashed,  expressive  eyes,  like  those  which 
looked  over  the  marabout's  mask.  His  dress  was  that  of  a 
miniature  man;  a  white  silk  burnous,  embroidered  with  gold, 
over  a  pale  blue  vest,  stitched  in  many  colours;  a  splendid  red 
cloak,  whose  embroidery  of  stiff  gold  stood  out  like  a  bas- 
relief;  a  turban  and  chechia  of  thin  white  muslin;  and  red- 
legged  boots  finer  than  those  of  the  Spahis.  Though  he  was 
but  eleven  years  old,  and  had  travelled  hard  for  days,  he  sat  his 
horse  with  a  princely  air,  worthy  the  son  of  a  desert  potentate; 
and  like  a  prince  he  received  the  honvige  of  the  marabout's 
men  who  rushed  to  him  with  guttural  jries,  kissing  the  toes  of 
his  boots,  in  their  short  stirrups,  and  fighting  for  an  end  of  his 
cloak  to  touch  with  their  lips.  He  did  not  know  that  he  had 
been  "kidnapped."  His  impression  was  that  he  had  deigned 
to  favour  a  rather  agreeable  Roumi  with  his  company.  Now 
he  was  returning  to  his  own  people,  and  would  bid  his  Roumi 
friend  good-bye  with  the  cordiality  of  one  gentleman  to  another, 
though  with  a  certain  royal  condescension  fitted  to  the  differ- 
ence in  their  positions. 

461 


462  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Nevill  was  in  wild  spirits,  though  pale  with  heat  and  fatigue. 
He  had  nothing  to  say  of  himself,  but  much  of  his  aunt  and  of 
the  boy  Mohammed.  "Ripping  little  chap,"  he  exclaimed, 
when  Saidee  had  gone  indoors.  "You  never  saw  such  pluck. 
He'd  die  sooner  than  admit  he  was  tired.  I  shall  be  quite  sorry 
to  part  from  him.  He  was  jolly  good  company,  a  sort  of  living 
book  of  Arab  history.  And  what  do  you  say  to  our  surprise  — 
the  twins  ?  My  aunt  sent  them  off  at  the  same  time  with  the 
telegram,  but  of  course  they  put  in  an  appearance  much  later. 
They  caught  me  up  this  morning,  riding  like  devils  on  racing 
camels,  with  one  guide.  No  horses  could  be  got  big  enough 
for  them.  They've  frightened  every  Arab  they've  met  —  but 
they're  used  to  that,  and  vain  of  it.  They've  got  rifles  —  and 
bagpipes  too,  for  all  I  know.  They're  capable  of  them." 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  Wings,"  said 
Stephen,  "  and  only  a  little  less  glad  to  see  those  big  fellows  with 
their  brave  faces."  Then  he  mentioned  to  Nevill  the  appa- 
rition of  that  mysterious  caravan  which  had  appeared,  and 
vanished.  Also  he  described  the  behaviour  of  the  Zaoui'a  men 
when  they  had  looked  south,  instead  of  north. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  I'll  bet,"  exclaimed  Nevill,  exuberant 
with  the  joy  of  success,  and  in  the  hope  of  coolness,  food  and 
rest.  "  Might  have  been  any  old  caravan,  on  its  own  business 
—  nothing  to  do  with  us.  That's  the  most  likely  thing.  But 
if  the  marabout's  mixed  up  with  it,  I  should  say  it's  only  be- 
cause he  couldn't  bear  to  stop  at  home  and  wait  in  suspense, 
and  I  don't  blame  him,  now  I've  made  acquaintance  with  the 
kid.  He'd  be  too  proud  to  parade  his  anxiety  under  our  noses, 
but  would  lurk  in  the  distance,  out  of  our  sight,  he  probably 
flatters  himself,  to  welcome  his  son,  and  take  him  back  to  Oued 
Tolga.  Not  unnatural  —  and  in  spite  of  all,  I  can't  help 
being  a  little  sorry  for  the  man.  We've  humiliated  and  got 
the  better  of  him,  because  we  happen  to  have  his  secret.  It's 
a  bit  like  draining  a  chap's  blood,  and  then  challenging  him 
to  fight.  He's  got  all  he  can  expect  now,  in  receiving  the  child 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  463 

back  and  if  I  can  judge  him  by  myself,  he'll  be  so  happy,  that 
he'll  be  only  too  thankful  to  see  our  backs  for  the  last  time." 

"He  might  feel  safer  to  stick  a  knife  in  them."    . 

"Oh,  lord,  I'm  too  hot  to  worry!"  laughed  Nevill.  "Let's 
bid  the  boy  Godspeed,  or  the  Mussulman  equivalent,  which  is 
a  lot  more  elaborate,  and  then  turn  our  thoughts  to  a  bath  of 
sorts  and  a  dinner  of  sorts.  I  think  Providence  has  been  good 
to  us  so  far,  and  we  can  afford  to  trust  It.  I'm  sure  Miss  Ray 
would  agree  with  me  there."  And  Nevill  glanced  with  kind 
blue  eyes  toward  the  shut  door  behind  which  Victoria  had  dis- 
appeared with  her  sister. 

When  at  last  the  little  Mohammed  had  been  despatched  with 
great  ceremony  of  politeness,  as  well  as  a  present  of  Stephen's 
gold  watch,  the  two  Englishmen  watched  him  fade  out  of  sight 
with  his  cavalcade  of  men  from  the  Zaoui'a,  and  saw  that 
nothing  moved  in  the  southern  distance. 

"All's  right  with  the  world,  and  now  for  a  wash  and  food!" 
cried  Nevill,  turning  in  with  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  gate  of  the 
bordj.  "  But  oh,  by  the  way  —  Hamish  has  got  a  letter  for 
you  —  or  is  it  Angus  ?  Anyhow,  it's  from  my  fairy  aunt,  which 
I  would  envy  you,  if  she  hadn't  sent  me  on  something  better  — 
a  post-card  from  Tlemcen.  My  tyrant  goddess  thinks  letters 
likely  to  give  undue  encouragement,  but  once  in  a  while  she 
sheds  the  light  of  a  post-card  on  me.  Small  favours  thankfully 
received  —  from  that  source ! " 

Inside  the  courtyard,  the  Highlanders  were  watching  the 
three  Arabs  who  had  travelled  with  them  and  their  master, 
attending  to  the  horses  and  camels.  These  newcomers  were 
being  shown  the  ropes  by  the  one  servant  of  the  bordj,  Stephen's 
men  helping  with  grave  good-nature.  They  all  seemed  very 
friendly  together,  as  is  the  way  of  Arabs,  unless  they  inhabit 
rival  districts. 

Hamish  had  the  letter,  and  gave  it  to  Stephen,  who  retired 
a  few  steps  to  read  it,  and  Nevill,  seeing  that  the  twins  left  all 
work  to  the  Arabs,  ordered  them  to  put  his  luggage  into  the 


464  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

musty-smelling  room  which  he  was  to  share  with  Stephen,  and 
to  get  him  some  kind  of  bath,  if  it  were  only  a  tin  pan. 

Stephen  did  not  listen  to  these  directions,  nor  did  he  hear 
or  see  anything  that  went  on  in  the  courtyard,  for  the  next 
ten  minutes.  There  was,  indeed,  a  short  and  characteristic 
letter  from  Lady  MacGregor,  but  it  was  only  to  say  that  she 
had  finished  and  named  the  new  game  of  Patience  for  Victoria 
Ray,  and  that,  after  all,  she  enclosed  him  a  telegram,  forwarded 
from  Algiers  to  Touggourt.  "I  know  Nevill  told  me  that 
everything  could  wait  till  you  got  back,"  she  explained,  "but 
as  I  am  sending  the  twins,  they  might  as  well  take  this.  It 
may  be  of  importance;  and  I'm  afraid  by  the  time  you  get  it, 
the  news  will  be  several  days  old  already." 

He  guessed,  before  he  looked,  whence  the  telegram  came; 
and  he  dreaded  to  make  sure.  For  an  instant,  he  was  tempted 
to  put  the  folded  bit  of  paper  in  his  pocket,  unread  until  Toug- 
gourt, or  even  Biskra.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  keep  these  few  days 
unspoiled  by  thoughts  of  what's  to  come,  since  they're  the  only 
happy  days  I  shall  ever  have  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  But  it  would 
be  weak  to  put  off  the  evil  moment,  and  he  would  not  yield. 
He  opened  the  telegram. 

"Sailing  on  Virginian.  Hope  you  can  meet  me  Liverpool 
May  22nd.  Love  and  longing.  Margot." 

To-day  was  the  25th. 


When  he  looked  up,  the  courtyard  was  empty,  and  quiet, 
save  for  the  quacking  of  two  or  three  forlorn  ducks.  Nevill 
had  gone  inside,  and  the  Highlanders  were  waiting  upon  him, 
no  doubt  —  for  Nevill  liked  a  good  deal  of  waiting  upon.  The 
Arabs  had  left  the  animals  peacefully  feeding,  and  had  dis- 
appeared into  the  kitchen,  or  perhaps  to  have  a  last  look  at  the 
vanishing  escort  of  the  marabout's  sacred  son. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  465 

Stephen  was  suddenly  conscious  of  fatigue,  and  a  depression 
as  of  great  weariness.  He  envied  Nevill,  whose  boyish  laugh 
he  heard.  The  girl  Nevill  loved  had  refused  to  marry  him,  but 
she  smiled  when  she  saw  him,  and  sent  him  post-cards  when  he 
was  absent.  There  was  hope  for  Nevill.  For  him  there  was 
none;  although  —  and  it  was  as  if  a  fierce  hand  seized  and 
wrenched  his  heart  —  sometimes  it  had  seemed,  in  the  last  few 
hours,  that  in  Victoria  Ray's  smile  for  him  there  was  the  same 
lovely,  mysterious  light  which  made  the  eyes  of  Josette  Soubise 
wonderful  when  she  looked  at  Nevill.  If  it  were  not  for 
Margot  —  but  there  was  no  use  thinking  of  that.  He  could  not 
ask  Margot  to  set  him  free,  after  all  that  had  passed,  and  even  if 
he  should  ask,  she  would  refuse.  Shuddering  disgustfully,  the 
thought  of  a  new  family  scandal  shot  through  his  mind:  a 
breach-of -promise  case  begun  by  Margot  against  him,  if  he  tried 
to  escape.  It  was  the  sort  of  thing  she  would  do,  he  could  not 
help  recognizing.  Another  cause  celebre,  more  vulgar  than  the 
fight  for  his  brother's  title !  How  Victoria  would  turn  in  shocked 
revulsion  from  the  hero  of  such  a  coarse  tragi-comedy.  But  he 
would  never  be  that  hero.  He  would  keep  his  word  and  stick  to 
Margot.  When  he  should  come  to  the  desert  telegraph  station 
between  Toudja  and  Touggourt,  he  would  wire  to  the  Carlton, 
where  she  thought  of  returning,  and  explain  as  well  as  he  could 
that,  not  expecting  her  quite  yet,  he  had  stayed  on  in  Africa, 
but  would  see  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

"Better  hurry  up  and  get  ready  for  dinner!"  shouted  Nevill, 
through  a  crack  of  their  bedroom  door.  "I  warn  you,  I'm 
starving!" 

By  this  time  the  Highlanders  were  out  in  the  courtyard 
again  —  two  gigantic  figures,  grotesque  and  even  fearful  in  the 
eyes  of  Arabs;  but  there  were  no  Arabs  to  stare  at  them  now. 
All  had  gone  about  their  business  in  one  direction  or  other. 

Stephen  said  nothing  to  his  friend  about  the  enclosure  in 
Lady  MacGregor's  letter,  mentioning  merely  the  new  game  of 
cards  named  in  honour  of  Miss  Ray,  at  which  they  both  laughed. 


466  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

And  it  seemed  rather  odd  to  Stephen  just  then,  to  hear  himself 
laugh. 

The  quick-falling  twilight  had  now  given  sudden  coolness  and 
peace  to  the  desert.  The  flies  had  ceased  then-  persecutions. 
The  whole  air  was  blue  as  the  light  seen  through  a  pale  star- 
sapphire,  for  the  western  sky  was  veiled  with  a  film  of  cloud 
floating  up  out  of  the  sunset  like  the  smoke  of  its  fire,  and  there 
was  no  glow  of  red. 

As  the  two  friends  made  themselves  ready  for  dinner,  and 
talked  of  such  adventures  as  each  had  just  passed  through, 
they  heard  the  voice  of  the  landlord,  impatiently  calling, 
"Abdallah!  Abdallah!" 

There  was  no  reply,  and  again  he  roared  the  name  of  his 
servant,  from  the  kitchen  and  from  the  courtyard,  into  which 
he  rushed  with  a  huge  ladle  in  his  hand;  then  from  farther 
off,  outside  the  gate,  which  remained  wide  open.  Still  there 
came  no  answer;  and  presently  Stephen,  looking  from  his  bed- 
room, saw  the  Frenchman,  hot  and  red-faced,  slowly  crossing 
the  courtyard,  mumbling  to  himself. 

Nevill  had  not  quite  finished  his  toilet,  for  he  had  a  kind 
of  boyish  vanity,  and  wished  to  show  how  well  and  smart  he 
could  look  after  the  long,  tiresome  journey.  But  Stephen  was 
ready,  and  he  stepped  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Can't  you  find  your  servant  ?  "  he  asked  the  keeper  of  the 
bordj. 

"No,"  said  the  man,  adding  some  epithets  singularly 
unflattering  to  the  absent  one  and  his  ancestors.  "He  has 
vanished  as  if  his  father,  the  devil,  had  dragged  him  down  to 
hell." 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  "  inquired  Stephen.  "  My  men  and 
my  friend's  men?  Are  they  still  standing  outside  the  gates, 
watching  the  boy  and  his  caravan  ?  " 

"  I  saw  them  nowhere,"  returned  the  Frenchman.  "  It  is  bad 
enough  to  keep  one  Arab  in  order.  I  do  not  run  after  others. 
Would  that  the  whole  nation  might  die  like  flies  in  a  frost!  I 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  467 

hate  them.  What  am  I  to  do  for  my  dinner,  and  ladies  in  the 
bordj  for  the  first  time?  It  is  just  my  luck.  I  cannot  leave 
the  kitchen,  and  that  brute  Abdallah  has  not  laid  the  table! 
When  I  catch  him  I  will  wring  his  neck  as  if  he  were  a  hen." 

He  trotted  back  to  the  kitchen,  swearing,  and  an  instant  later 
he  was  visible  through  the  open  door,  drinking  something  out 
of  a  bottle. 

Stephen  went  to  the  door  of  the  third  and  last  guest-room  of 
the  bordj.  It  was  larger  than  the  others,  and  had  no  furniture 
except  a  number  of  thick  blue  and  red  rugs  spread  one  on  top 
of  the  other,  on  the  floor.  This  was  the  place  where  those 
who  paid  least  were  accommodated,  eight  or  ten  at  a  time  if 
necessary;  and  it  was  expected  that  Hamish  and  Angus  would 
have  to  share  the  room  with  the  Arab  guides  of  both  parties. 

Stephen  looked  in  at  the  twins,  as  they  scornfully  inspected 
their  quarters. 

"Where  are  the  Arabs?"  he  asked,  as  he  had  asked  the 
landlord. 

"We  dinna  ken  whaur  they've  ta'en  theirsel's,"  replied 
Angus.  "  All  we  ken  is,  we  wull  not  lie  in  the  hoose  wi'  'em. 
Her  leddyship  wadna  expect  it,  whateffer.  We  prefair  t'  sleep 
in  th'  open." 

Stephen  retired  from  the  argument,  and  mounted  a  steep, 
rough  stairway,  close  to  the  gate,  which  led  to  the  flat  top  of 
the  wall,  and  had  formerly  been  connected  by  a  platform  with 
the  ruined  heliograph  tower.  The  wall  was  perhaps  two  feet 
thick,  and  though  the  top  was  rough  and  somewhat  broken, 
it  was  easy  to  walk  upon  it.  Once  it  had  been  defended  by  a 
row  of  nails  and  bits  of  glass,  but  most  of  these  were  gone.  It 
was  an  ancient  bordj,  and  many  years  of  peace  had  passed  since 
it  was  built  in  the  old  days  of  raids  and  razzias. 

Stephen  looked  out  over  the  desert,  through  the  blue  veil  of 
twilight,  but  could  see  no  sign  of  life  anywhere.  Then,  coming 
down,  he  mounted  into  each  squat  tower  in  turn,  and  peered 
out,  so  that  he  mfght  spy  in  all  directions,  but  there  was  nothing 


468  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

to  spy  save  the  shadowy  dunes,  more  than  ever  like  waves  of 
the  sea,  in  this  violet  light.  He  was  not  reassured,  however, 
by  the  appearance  of  a  vast  peace  and  emptiness.  Behind 
those  billowing  dunes  that  surged  away  toward  the  horizon, 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  there  was  hiding-place  for  an 
army. 

As  he  came  down  from  the  last  of  the  four  towers,  his  friend 
sauntered  out  from  his  bedroom.  "I  hope  the  missing  Ab- 
dallah's  turned  up,  and  dinner's  ready,"  said  Nevill  gaily. 

Then  Stephen  told  him  what  had  happened,  and  Nevill's 
cheerful  face  settled  into  gravity. 

"Looks  as  if  they'd  got  a  tip  from  the  marabout's  men," 
he  said  slowly. 

"It  can  be  nothing  else,"  Stephen  agreed. 

"I  blame  myself  for  calling  the  twins  inside  to  help  me," 
said  Nevill.  "If  I'd  left  them  to  moon  about  the  courtyard, 
they'd  have  seen  those  sneaks  creeping  away,  and  reported." 

"They  wouldn't  have  thought  it  strange  that  the  Arabs  stood 
outside,  watching  the  boy  go.  You're  not  to  blame,  because 
you  didn't  see  the  sly  look  in  my  fellows'  faces.  I  had  the  sign, 
and  neglected  it,  in  spite  of  my  resolutions.  But  after  all,  if 
we're  in  for  trouble,  I  don't  know  that  it  isn't  as  well  those 
cowards  have  taken  French  leave.  If  they'd  stayed,  we'd 
only  have  had  an  enemy  inside  the  gates,  as  well  as  out.  And 
that  reminds  me,  we  must  have  the  gates  shut  at  once.  Thank 
heaven  we  brought  those  French  army  rifles  and  plenty  of 
cartridges  from  Algiers,  when  we  didn't  know  what  we  might 
be  in  for.  Now  we  do  know;  and  all  are  likely  to  come  handy. 
Also  our  revolvers." 

"Thank  heaven  and  my  aunt  for  the  twins,  too,"  said  Nevill. 
"  They  might  be  better  servants,  but  I'll  bet  on  them  as  fighters. 
And  perhaps  you  noticed  the  rifles  her  'leddyship'  provided 
them  with  at  Touggourt  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  muzzles  glitter  as  they  rode  along  on  camel-back," 
Stephen  answered.  "  I  was  glad  even  then,  but  now "  He 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  469 

did  not  need  to  finish  the  sentence.  "  We'd  better  have  a  word 
with  our  host,"  he  said. 

To  reach  the  dining-room,  where  the  landlord  was  busy, 
furiously  clattering  dishes,  they  had  to  pass  the  door  of  the 
room  occupied  by  the  sisters.  It  was  half  open,  and  as  they 
went  by,  Victoria  came  out. 

"  Please  tell  me  things,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure  you're  anxious. 
When  we  heard  the  landlord  call  his  servant  and  nobody  an- 
swered, Saidee  was  afraid  there  was  something  wrong.  You 
know,  from  the  first  she  thought  that  her  —  that  Cassim  didn't 
mean  to  keep  his  word.  Have  the  Arabs  all  gone  ?  " 

Nevill  was  silent,  to  let  Stephen  take  the  responsibility.  He 
was  not  sure  whether  or  no  his  friend  meant  to  try  and  hide 
their  anxiety  from  the  women.  But  Stephen  answered  frankly. 
"  Yes,  they've  gone.  It  may  be  that  nothing  will  happen,  but 
we're  going  to  shut  the  gates  at  once,  and  make  every  possible 
preparation." 

"  In  case  of  an  attack  ?  " 

"Yes.  But  we  have  a  good  place  for  defence  here.  It 
would  be  something  to  worry  about  if  we  were  out  in  the  open 
desert." 

"  There  are  five  men,  counting  your  Highlanders,"  said  Vic- 
toria, turning  to  Nevill.  "  I  think  they  are  brave,  and  I  know 
well  already  what  you  both  are."  Her  eyes  flashed  to  Stephen's 
with  a  beautiful  look,  all  for  him.  "And  Saidee  and  I  aren't 
cowards.  Our  greatest  grief  is  that  we've  brought  you  into  this 
danger.  It's  for  our  sakes.  If  it  weren't  for  us,  you'd  be  safe 
and  happy  in  Algiers." 

Both  men  laughed.  "  We'd  rather  be  here,  thank  you,"  said 
Stephen.  "  If  you're  not  frightened,  that's  all  we  want.  We're 
as  safe  as  in  a  fort,  and  shall  enjoy  the  adventure,  if  we 
have  any." 

"  It's  like  you  to  say  that,"  Victoria  answered.  "  But  there's 
no  use  pretending,  is  there  ?  Cassim  will  bring  a  good  many 
men,  and  Si  Maieddine  will  be  with  them,  I  think.  They 


470  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

couldn't  afford  to  try,  and  fail.  If  they  come,  they'll  have  to 
—  make  thorough  work." 

"  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  they  wouldn't  want  to  take  too  many 
into  their  secret,"  Stephen  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"Well,  we  may  soon  know,"  she  said.  "But  what  I  came 
out  to  say,  is  this.  My  sister  has  two  carrier  pigeons  with 
her.  One  has  hurt  its  wing  and  is  no  use.  But  the  other 
is  well,  and  —  he  comes  from  Oued  Tolga.  Not  the  Zaou'ia, 
but  the  city.  We've  been  thinking,  she  and  I,  since  the  Arab 
servant  didn't  answer,  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  send  a 
letter  to  —  to  Captain  Sabine,  telling  him  we  expected  an 
attack." 

"It  would  be  rather  a  sell  if  he  got  the  message,  and  acted 
on  it  —  and  then  nothing  happened  after  all,"  suggested  Nevill. 

"  I  think  we'll  send  the  message,"  said  Stephen.  "  It  would 
be  different  if  we  were  all  men  here,  but " 

Victoria  turned,  and  ran  back  to  the  open  door. 

"The  pigeon  shall  go  in  five  minutes,"  she  called  over  her 
shoulder. 

Stephen  and  Nevill  went  to  the  dining-room. 

The  landlord  was  there,  drunk,  talking  to  himself.  He  had 
broken  a  dish,  and  was  kicking  the  fragments  under  the  table. 
He  laughed  at  first  when  the  two  Englishmen  tried  to  impress 
upon  him  the  gravity  of  the  situation;  at  last,  however,  they 
made  him  understand  that  this  was  no  joke,  but  deadly  earnest. 
They  helped  him  close  and  bar  the  heavy  iron  gates ;  and  as  they 
looked  about  for  material  with  which  to  build  up  a  barrier  if 
necessary,  they  saw  the  sisters  come  to  the  door.  Saidee  had  a 
pigeon  in  her  hands,  and  opening  them  suddenly,  she  let  it  go. 
It  rose,  fluttered,  circling  in  the  air,  and  flew  southward.  Vic- 
toria ran  up  the  dilapidated  stairway  by  the  gate,  to  see  it  go, 
but  already  the  tiny  form  was  muffled  from  sight  in  the  blue 
folds  of  the  twilight. 

"  In  less  than  two  hours  it  will  be  at  Oued  Tolga,"  the  girl 
cried,  coming  down  the  steep  steps. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  471 

At  that  instant,  far  away,  there  was  the  dry  bark  of  a  gun. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  said  nothing,  but  the  same 
doubt  was  in  the  minds  of  all. 

It  might  be  that  the  message  would  never  reach  Oued  Tolga. 

Then  another  thought  flashed  into  Stephen's  brain.  He 
asked  himself  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  climb  up  into  the 
broken  tower.  If  he  could  reach  the  top,  he  might  be  able 
to  call  for  help  if  they  should  be  hard-pressed ;  for  some  years 
before  he  had,  more  for  amusement  than  anything  else,  taken 
a  commission  in  a  volunteer  battalion  and  among  many  other 
things  which  he  considered  more  or  less  useless,  had  learned  sig- 
nalling. He  had  not  entirely  forgotten  the  accomplishment, 
and  it  might  serve  him  very  well  now,  only  —  and  he  looked 
up  critically  at  the  jagged  wall  —  it  would  be  difficult  to  get 
into  that  upper  chamber,  a  shell  of  which  remained.  In  any 
case,  he  would  not  think  of  so  extreme  a  measure,  until  he  was 
sure  that,  if  he  gave  an  alarm,  it  would  not  be  a  false  one. 

"  Let's  have  dinner,  "  said  Nevill.  "  If  we  have  fighting  to 
do,  I  vote  we  start  with  ammunition  in  our  stomachs  as  well  as 
in  our  pockets." 

Saidee  had  gone  part  way  up  the  steps,  and  was  looking  over 
the  wall. 

"I  see  something  dark,  that  moves,"  she  said.  "It's  far 
away,  but  I  am  sure.  My  eyes  haven't  been  trained  in  the 
desert  for  nothing.  It's  a  caravan  —  quite  a  big  caravan,  and 
it's  coming  this  way.  That's  where  the  shot  came  from.  If 
they  killed  the  pigeon,  or  winged  it,  we're  all  lost.  It  would 
only  be  childish  to  hope.  We  must  look  our  fate  in  the  face. 
The  men  will  be  killed,  and  I,  too.  Victoria  will  be  saved,  but 
I  think  she'd  rather  die  with  the  rest  of  us,  for  Mai'eddine  will 
take  her." 

"It's  never  childish  to  hope,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Nevill. 
"This  little  fort  of  ours  isn't  to  be  conquered  in  an  hour,  or 
many  hours,  I  assure  you." 

"  And  we  have  no  intention  of  letting  you  be  killed,  or  Miss 


472  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Ray  carried  off,  or  of  dying  ourselves,  at  the  hands  of  a  few 
Arabs,"  Knight  added.  "  Have  confidence." 

"In  our  star,"  Victoria  half  whispered,  looking  at  Stephen. 
They  both  remembered,  and  their  eyes  spoke,  in  a  language 
they  had  never  used  before. 

In  England,  Margot  Lorenzi  was  wondering  why  Stephen 
Knight  had  not  come  to  meet  her,  and  angrily  making  up  her 
mind  that  she  would  find  out  the  reason. 


SOMEHOW,  they  all  contrived  to  take  a  little  food, 
three  watching  from  the  wall-towers  while  the  others 
ate;  and  Saidee  prepared  strong,  delicious  coffee, 
such  as  had  never  been  tasted  in  the  bordj  of  Toudja. 

When  they  had  dined  after  a  fashion,  each  making  a  five- 
minute  meal,  there  was  still  time  to  arrange  the  defence,  for 
the  attacking  party  —  if  such  it  were  —  could  not  reach  the 
bordj  in  less  than  an  hour,  marching  as  fast  as  horses  and 
camels  could  travel  among  the  dunes. 

The  landlord  was  drunk.  There  was  no  disguising  that, 
but  though  he  was  past  planning,  he  was  not  past  fighting. 
He  had  a  French  army  rifle  and  bayonet.  Each  of  the  five 
men  had  a  revolver,  and  there  was  another  in  the  bordj, 
belonging  to  the  absent  brother.  This  Saidee  asked  for,  and  it 
was  given  her.  There  were  plenty  of  cartridges  for  each 
weapon,  enough  at  all  events  to  last  out  a  hot  fight  of  several 
hours.  After  that  — but  it  was  best  not  to  send  thoughts  too 
far  ahead. 

The  Frenchman  had  served  long  ago  in  the  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique,  and  had  risen,  he  said,  to  the  rank  of  sergeant; 
but  the  fumes  of  absinthe  clouded  his  brain,  and  he  could  only 
swagger  and  boast  of  old  exploits  as  a  soldier,  crying  from  time 
to  time  "Vive  1'entente  cordiale,"  and  assuring  the  Englishmen 
that  they  could  trust  him  to  the  death.  It  was  Stephen  who, 
by  virtue  of  his  amateur  soldiering  experience,  had  to  take 
the  lead.  He  posted  the  Highlanders  in  opposite  watch- 
towers,  placing  Nevill  in  one  which  commanded  the  two  rear 
walls  of  the  bordj.  The  next  step  was  the  building  of  bon- 

473 


474  THE   GOL.DEN  SILENCE 

firee,  one  at  each  corner  of  the  roof,  so  that  when  the  time  for 
fighting  came,  the  defenders  might  confound  the  enemy  by 
lighting  the  surrounding  desert,  making  a  surprise  im- 
possible. Old  barrels  were  broken  up,  therefore,  and  satur- 
ated with  oil.  The  spiked  double  gates  of  iron,  though  appar- 
ently strong,  Stephen  judged  incapable  of  holding  out  long 
against  battering  rams,  but  he  knew  heavy  baulks  of  wood  to 
be  rare  in  the  desert,  far  from  the  palms  of  the  oases.  What  he 
feared  most  was  gunpowder;  and  though  he  was  ignorant  of 
the  marabout's  secret  ambitions  and  warlike  preparations, 
he  thought  it  not  improbable  that  a  store  of  gunpowder  might 
be  kept  in  the  Zaouia.  True,  the  French  Government  forbade 
Arabs  to  have  more  than  a  small  supply  in  their  possession; 
but  the  marabout  was  greatly  trusted,  and  was  perhaps  allowed 
to  deal  out  a  certain  amount  of  the  coveted  treasure  for  "powder 
play"  on  religious  fete  days.  To  prevent  the  bordj  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  Arabs  if  the  gate  were  blown  down,  Stephen 
and  his  small  force  built  up  at  the  further  corner  of  the  yard,  in 
front  of  the  dining-room  door,  a  barrier  of  mangers,  barrels, 
wooden  troughs,  iron  bedsteads  and  mattresses  from  the 
guest-rooms.  Also  they  reinforced  the  gates  against  pressure 
from  the  outside,  using  the  shafts  of  an  old  cart  to  make  struts, 
which  they  secured  against  the  side  walls  or  frame  of  the  gate- 
way. These  formed  buttresses  of  considerable  strength; 
and  the  landlord,  instead  of  grumbling  at  the  damage  which 
might  be  done  to  his  bordj,  and  the  danger  which  threatened 
himself,  was  maudlin  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of  killing  a 
few  detested  Arabs. 

"I  don't  know  what  your  quarrel's  about,  unless  it's  the 
ladies,"  he  said,  breathing  vengeance  and  absinthe,  "but 
whatever  it  is,  I'll  make  it  mine,  whether  you  compensate  me 
or  not.  Depend  upon  me,  mon  capitaine.  Depend  on  an 
old  soldier." 

But  Stephen  dared  not  depend  upon  him  to  man  one  of  the 
watch-towers.  Eye  and  hand  were  too  unsteady  to  do  good 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  475 

service  in  picking  off  escaladers.  The  ex-soldier  was  brave 
enough  for  any  feat,  however,  and  was  delighted  when  the 
Englishman  suggested,  rather  than  gave  orders,  that  his  should 
be  the  duty  of  lighting  the  bonfires.  That  done,  he  was  to 
take  his  stand  in  the  courtyard,  and  shoot  any  man  who  escaped 
the  rifles  in  the  wall-towers. 

It  was  agreed  among  all  five  men  that  the  gate  was  to  be 
held  as  long  as  possible;  that  if  it  fell,  a  second  stand  should 
be  made  behind  the  crescent-shaped  barricade  outside  the 
dining-room  door;  that,  should  this  defence  fall  also,  all  must 
retreat  into  the  dining-room,  where  the  two  sisters  must 
remain  throughout  the  attack;  and  this  would  be  the  last 
stand. 

Everything  being  settled,  and  the  watch-towers  well  supplied 
with  food  for  the  rifles,  Stephen  went  to  call  Saidee  and  Vic- 
toria, who  were  in  their  almost  dismantled  room.  The 
bedstead,  washstand,  chairs  and  table  had  ceased  to  be  furni- 
ture, and  had  become  part  of  the  barricade. 

"Let  me  carry  your  things  into  the  dining-room  now,"  he 
said.  "And  your  bed  covering.  We  can  make  up  a  sort  of 
couch  there,  for  you  may  as  well  be  comfortable  if  you  can. 
And  you  know,  it's  on  the  cards  that  all  our  fuss  is  in  vain. 
Nothing  whatever  may  happen." 

They  obeyed,  without  objection;  but  Saidee's  look  as  she 
laid  a  pair  of  Arab  blankets  over  Stephen's  arm,  told  how 
little  rest  she  expected.  She  gathered  up  a  few  things  of  her 
own,  however,  to  take  from  the  bedroom  to  the  dining-room, 
and  as  she  walked  ahead,  Stephen  asked  Victoria  if,  in  the 
handbag  she  had  brought  from  the  Zaoui'a  there  was  a  mirror. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "There's  quite  a  good-sized  one, 
which  I  used  to  have  on  my  dressing-table  in  the  theatre. 
How  far  away  that  time  seems  now!" 

"  Will  you  lend  the  mirror  to  me  —  or  do  you  value  it  too 
much  to  risk  having  it  smashed?" 

"Of  course  I'll  lend  it.     But "  she  looked  up  at  him 


476  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

anxiously,   in  the   blue    star-dusk.     "What    are    you    going 
to  do?"* 

"Nothing  particular,  unless  we've  reason  to  believe  that  an 
attack  will  be  made;  that  is,  if  a  lot  of  Arabs  come  near  the 
bordj.  In  that  case,  I  want  to  try  and  get  up  into  the  tower, 
and  do  some  signalling  —  for  fear  the  shot  we  heard  hit  your 
sister's  messenger.  I  used  to  be  rather  a  nailer  at  that  sort  of 
thing,  when  I  played  at  soldiering  a  few  years  ago." 

"But  no  one  could  climb  the  tower  now!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 

"I  don't  know.  I  almost  flatter  myself  that  I  could.  I've 
done  the  Dent  Blanche  twice,  and  a  Welsh  mountain  or  two. 
To  be  sure,  I  must  be  my  own  guide  now,  but  I  think  I  can 
bring  it  off  all  right.  I've  been  searching  about  for  a  mirror 
and  reflector,  in  case  I  try  the  experiment;  for  the  heliograph- 
ing  apparatus  was  spoilt  in  the  general  wreckage  of  things  by 
the  storm.  I've  got  a  reflector  off  a  lamp  in  the  kitchen,  but 
couldn't  find  a  looking-glass  anywhere,  and  I  saw  there  was 
only  a  broken  bit  in  your  room.  My  one  hope  was  in  you." 

As  he  said  this,  he  felt  that  the  words  meant  a  great  deal 
more  than  he  wished  her  to  understand. 

"I  hate  being  afraid  of  things,"  said  Victoria.  "But  I  am 
afraid  to  have  you  go  up  in  the  tower.  It's  only  a  shell,  that 
looks  as  if  it  might  blow  down  in  another  storm.  It  could  fall 
with  you,  even  if  you  got  up  safely  to  the  signalling  place. 
And  besides,  if  Cassim's  men  were  near,  they  might  see  you 
and  shoot.  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  could  bear  to  have  you  go!" 

"You  care — a  little — what  becomes  of  me?"  Stephen 
had  stammered  before  he  had  time  to  forbid  himself  the  question. 

"I  care  a  great  deal  — what  becomes  of  you." 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me  that,"  he  said,  warmly.  "I  — " 
but  he  knew  he  must  not  .go  on.  "I  shan't  be  in  danger,"  he 
finished.  "I'll  be  up  and  back  before  any  one  gets  near  enough 
to  see  what  I'm  at,  and  pot  at  me." 

As  he  spoke,  the  sound  of  a  strange,  wild  singing  came  to 
them,  with  the  desert  wind  that  blew  from  the  south. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  477 

''That's  a  Touareg  song,"  exclaimed  Saidee,  turning.  "It 
isn't  Arab.  I've  heard  Touaregs  sing  it,  coming  to  the 
Zaoui'a." 

"Madame  is  right,"  said  the  landlord.  "I,  too,  have  heard 
Touaregs  sing  it,  in  their  own  country,  and  also  when  they 
have  passed  here,  in  small  bands.  Perhaps  we  have  deceived 
ourselves.  Perhaps  we  are  not  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a  fight. 
I  feared  it  was  too  good  to  be  true." 

"I  can  see  a  caravan,"  cried  Nevill,  from  his  cell  in  a  wall- 
tower.  "There  seem  to  be  a  lot  of  men." 

"Would  they  come  like  that,  if  they  wanted  to  fight?" 
asked  the  girl.  "Wouldn't  they  spread  out,  and  hope  to  sur- 
prise us?" 

"They'll  either  try  to  rush  the  gate,  or  else  they'll  pretend 
to  be  a  peaceful  caravan,"  said  Stephen. 

"I  see!  Get  the  landlord  to  let  their  leaders  in,  and  then 
.  .  .  That's  why  they  sing  the  Touareg  song,  perhaps, 
to  put  us  off  our  guard." 

"Into  the  dining-room,  both  of  you,  and  have  courage! 
Whatever  happens,  don't  come  out.  Will  you  give  me  the 
mirror  ?  " 

"Must  you  go?" 

"Yes.     Be  quick,  please." 

On  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room  Victoria  opened  her  bag, 
and  gave  him  a  mirror  framed  in  silver.  It  had  been  a  present 
from  an  enthusiastic  millionairess  in  New  York,  who  admired 
her  dancing.  That  seemed  very  odd  now.  The  girl's  hand 
trembled  as  for  an  instant  it  touched  Stephen's.  He  pressed 
her  fingers,  and  was  gone. 

"Babe,  I  think  this  will  be  the  last  night  of  my  life,"  said 
Saidee,  standing  behind  the  girl,  in  the  doorway,  and  pressing 
against  her.  "Cassim  will  kill  me,  when  he  kills  the  men, 
because  I  know  his  secret  and  because  he  hates  me.  If  I  could 
only  have  had  a  little  happiness!  I  don't  want  to  die.  I'm 
afraid.  And  it's  horrible  to  be  killed." 


478  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"I  love  being  alive,  but  I  want  to  know  what  happens  next," 
said  Victoria.  "Sometimes  I  want  it  so  much,  that  I  almost 
long  to  die.  And  probably  one  feels  brave  when  the  minute 
comes.  One  always  does,  when  the  great  things  arrive. 
Besides,  we're  sure  it  must  be  glorious  as  soon  as  we're  out  of 
our  bodies.  Don't  you  know,  when  you're  going  to  jump  into 
a  cold  bath,  you  shiver  and  hesitate  a  little,  though  you  know 
perfectly  well  it  will  be  splendid  in  an  instant.  Thinking  of 
death's  rather  like  that." 

"You  haven't  got  to  think  of  it  for  yourself  to-night.  Maled- 
dinewill " 

"No,"  the  girl  broke  in.     "I  won't  go  with  Ma'feddine." 

"If  they  take  this  place  — as  they  must,  if  they've  brought 
many  men,  you'll  have  to  go,  unless " 

"Yes;  'unless.'  That's  what  I  mean.  But  don't  ask  me 
any  more.  I  — I  can't  think  of  ourselves  now." 

"You're  thinking  of  some  one  you  love  better  than  you  do 
me." 

"Oh,  no,  not  better.  Only "  Victoria's  voice  broke. 

The  two  clung  to  each  other.  Saidee  could  feel  how  the  girl's 
heart  was  beating,  and  how  the  sobs  rose  in  her  throat,  and  were 
choked  back. 

Victoria  watched  the  tower,  that  looked  like  a  jagged  black 
tear  in  the  star-strewn  blue  fabric  of  the  sky.  And  she  listened. 
It  seemed  as  if  her  very  soul  were  listening. 

The  wild  Touareg  chant  was  louder  now,  but  she  hardly 
heard  it,  because  her  ears  strained  for  some  sound  which  the 
singing  might  cover:  the  sound  of  rubble  crumbling  under  a 
foot  that  climbed  and  sought  a  holding-place. 

From  far  away  came  the  barking  of  Kabyle  dogs,  in  distant 
camps  of  nomads.  In  stalls  of  the  bordj,  where  the  animals 
rested,  a  horse  stamped  now  and  then,  or  a  camel  grunted. 
Each  slightest  noise  made  Victoria  start  and  tremble.  She 
could  be  brave  for  herself,  but  it  was  harder  to  be  brave  for  one 
she  loved,  in  great  danger. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  479 

"They'll  be  here  in  ten  minutes,"  shouted  Nevill.  "Legs, 
where  are  you?" 

There  was  no  answer;  but  Victoria  thought  she  heard  the 
patter  of  falling  sand.  At  least,  the  ruin  stood  firm  so  far. 
By  this  time  Stephen  might  have  nearly  reached  the  top.  He 
had  told  her  not  to  leave  the  dining-room,  and  she  had  not 
meant  to  disobey;  but  she  had  made  no  promise,  and  she 
could  bear  her  suspense  no  longer.  Where  she  stood,  she 
could  not  see  into  the  shell  of  the  broken  tower.  She  must 
see! 

Running  out,  she  darted  across  the  courtyard,  pausing  near 
the  Frenchman,  Pierre  Rostafel,  who  wandered  unsteadily  up 
and  down  the  quadrangle,  his  torch  of  alfa  grass  ready  in  his 
hand.  He  did  not  know  that  one  of  the  Englishmen  was  trying 
to  climb  the  tower,  and  would  not  for  an  instant  have  believed 
that  any  human  being  could  reach  the  upper  chamber,  if  sud- 
denly a  light  had  not  flashed  out,  at  the  top,  seventy  feet  above 
his  head. 

Dazed  already  with  absinthe,  fantastic  ideas  beat  stupidly 
upon  his  brain,  like  bats  that  blunder  against  a  lamp  and 
extinguish  it  with  foolish,  flapping  wings.  He  thought  that 
somehow  the  enemy  must  have  stolen  a  march  upon  the  de- 
fenders: that  the  hated  Arabs  had  got  into  the  tower,  from  a 
ladder  raised  outside  the  wall,  and  that  soon  they  would  be 
pouring  down  in  a  swarm.  Before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing, 
he  had  stumbled  up  the  stairs  on  to  the  flat  wall  by  the  gate. 
Scrambling  along  with  his  torch,  he  got  on  to  the  bordj  roof,  and 
lit  bonfire  after  bonfire,  though  Victoria  called  on  him  to 
stop,  crying  that  it  was  too  soon  —  that  the  men  outside  would 
shoot  and  kill  him  who  would  save  them  all. 

The  sweet  silence  of  the  starry  evening  was  crashed  upon  with 
lights  and  jarring  sounds. 

Stephen,  who  had  climbed  the  tower  with  a  lantern  and  a 
kitchen  lamp-reflector  slung  in  a  table-cover,  on  his  back,  had 
just  got  his  makeshift  apparatus  in  order,  and  standing  on  a 


480  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

narrow  shelf  of  floor  which  overhung  a  well-like  abyss,  had 
begun  his  signalling  to  the  northward. 

Too  late  he  realized  that,  for  all  the  need  of  haste,  he  ought 
to  have  waited  long  enough  to  warn  the  drunken  Frenchman 
what  he  meant  to  do.  If  he  had,  this  contretemps  would  not 
have  happened.  His  telegraphic  flashes,  long  and  short,  must 
have  told  the  enemy  what  was  going  on  in  the  tower,  but  they 
could  not  have  seen  him  standing  there,  exposed  like  a  target 
to  their  fire,  if  Rostafel  had  not  lit  the  bonfires. 

Suddenly  a  chorus  of  yells  broke  out,  strange  yells  that 
sprang  from  savage  hearts;  and  one  side  wise  glance  down 
showed  Stephen  the  desert  illuminated  with  red  fire.  He 
went  on  with  his  work,  not  stopping  to  count  the  men  on  horses 
and  camels  who  rode  fast  towards  the  bordj,  though  not  yet 
at  the  foot  of  that  swelling  sand  hill  on  which  it  stood.  But  a 
picture  — of  uplifted  dark  faces  and  pointing  rifles  — was  stamped 
upon  his  brain  in  that  one  swift  look,  clear  as  an  impression 
of  a  seal  in  hot  wax.  He  had  even  time  to  see  that  those  faces 
were  half  enveloped  in  masks  such  as  he  had  noticed  in  photo- 
graphs of  Touaregs,  yet  he  was  sure  that  the  twenty  or  thirty 
men  were  not  Touaregs.  When  close  to  the  bordj  all  flung 
themselves  from  their  animals,  which  were  led  away,  while 
the  riders  took  cover  by  throwing  themselves  flat  on  the  sand. 
Then  they  began  shooting,  but  he  looked  no  more.  He  was 
determined  to  keep  on  signalling  till  he  got  an  answer  or  was 
shot  dead. 

There  were  others,  however,  who  looked  and  saw  the  faces, 
and  the  rifles  aimed  at  the  broken  tower.  The  bonfires  which 
showed  the  figure  in  the  ruined  heliographing-room,  to  the 
enemy,  also  showed  the  enemy  to  the  watchers  in  the  wall- 
towers,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  gates. 

The  Highlanders  open  fire.  Their  skill  as  marksmen, 
gained  in  the  glens  and  mountains  of  Sutherlandshire,  was 
equally  effective  on  different  game,  in  the  desert  of  the  Sahara. 
One  shot  brought  a  white,  mehari  to  its  knees.  Another  caused 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  481 

a  masked  man  in  a  striped  gandourah  to  wring  his  hand  and 
squeal. 

The  whole  order  of  things  was  changed  by  the  sudden 
flashes  from  the  height  of  the  dark  ruin,  and  the  lighting  of  the 
bonfires  on  the  bordj  roof. 

Two  of  the  masked  men  riding  on  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
other  twenty  had  planned,  as  Stephen  guessed,  to  demand 
admittance  to  the  bordj,  declaring  themselves  leaders  of  a 
Touareg  caravan  on  its  way  to  Touggourt.  If  they  could  have 
induced  an  unsuspecting  landlord  to  open  the  gates,  so  much  the 
better  for  them.  If  not,  a  parley  would  have  given  the  band 
time  to  act  upon  instructions  already  understood.  But  Cassim 
ben  Halim,  an  old  soldier,  and  Maieddine,  whose  soul  was  in 
this  venture,  were  not  the  men  to  meet  an  emergency  unpre- 
pared. They  had  calculated  on  a  check,  and  were  ready  for 
surprises. 

It  was  Maieddine's  camel  that  went  down,  shot  in  the  neck. 
He  had  been  keeping  El  Biod  in  reserve,  when  the  splendid 
stallion  might  be  needed  for  two  to  ride  away  in  haste  — his 
master  and  a  woman.  As  the  mehari  fell,  Maieddine  escaped 
from  the  saddle  and  alighted  on  his  feet,  his  blue  Touareg  veil 
disarranged  by  the  shock.  His  face  uncovered,  he  bounded 
up  the  slope  with  the  bullets  of  Angus  and  Hamish  pattering 
around  him  in  the  sand. 

"She's  bewitched,  whateffer!"  the  twins  mumbled,  each  in 
his  watch-tower,  as  the  tall  figure  sailed  on  like  a  war-cloud,  un- 
touched. And  they  wished  for  silver  bullets,  to  break  the 
charm  woven  round  the  "fanatic"  by  a  wicked  spirit. 

Over  Maieddine's  head  his  leader  was  shooting  at  Stephen  in 
the  tower,  while  Hamish  returned  his  fire,  leaving  the  running 
man  to  Angus.  But  suddenly  Angus  wheeled  after  a  shot, 
to  yell  through  the  tower  door  into  the  courtyard.  "Oot  o* 
the  way,  wimmen!  He's  putten  gunpowder  to  the  gate  if  I 
canna  stop  him."  Then,  he  wheeled  into  place,  and  was  en- 
tranced to  see  that  the  next  bullet  found  its  billet  under  the 


482  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Arab's  turban.  In  the  orange  light  of  the  bonfires,  Angus 
could  see  a  spout  of  crimson  gush  down  the  bronze  forehead 
and  over  the  glittering  eyes.  But  the  wounded  Arab  did  not 
fall  back  an  inch  or  drop  a  burden  which  he  carried  carefully. 
Now  he  was  sheltering  behind  the  high,  jutting  gate-post.  In 
another  minute  it  would  be  too  late  to  save  the  gate. 

But  Angus  did  not  think  of  Victoria.  Nor  did  Victoria 
stop  to  think  of  herself.  Something  seemed  to  say  in  her  heart, 
"  Mai'eddine  won't  let  them  blow  up  the  gate,  if  it  means  your 
death,  and  so,  maybe,  you  can  save  them  all." 

This  was  not  a  thought,  since  she  had  no  time  for  thought. 
It  was  but  a  murmur  in  her  brain,  as  she  ran  up  the  steep 
stairway  close  to  the  gate,  and  climbed  on  to  the  wall. 

Mai'eddine,  streaming  with  blood,  was  sheltering  in  the  nar- 
row angle  of  the  gate-post  where  the  firing  from  the  towers 
struck  the  wall  instead  of  his  body.  He  had  suspended  a 
cylinder  of  gunpowder  against  the  gate,  and,  his  hands  full  of 
powder  to  sprinkle  a  trail,  he  was  ready  to  make  a  dash  for 
life  when  a  voice  cried  his  name. 

Victoria  stood  on  the  high  white  wall  of  the  bordj,  just  above 
the  gate,  on  the  side  where  he  had  hung  the  gunpowder. 
A  few  seconds  more  — his  soul  sickened  at  the  thought.  He 
forgot  his  own  danger,  in  thinking  of  hers,  and  how  he 
might  have  destroyed  her,  blotting  out  the  light  of  his  own 
life. 

"Maieddine!"  she  called,  before  she  knew  who  had  been 
ready  to  lay  the  fuse,  and  that,  instead  of  crying  to  a  man  in 
the  distance,  she  spoke  to  one  at  her  feet.  He  stared  up  at 
her  through  a  haze  of  blood.  In  the  red  light  of  the  fire,  she 
was  more  beautiful  even  than  when  she  had  danced  in  his 
father's  tent,  and  he  had  told  himself  that  if  need  be  he  would 
throw  away  the  world  for  her.  She  recognized  him  as  she 
looked  down,  and  started  back  with  an  impulse  to  escape, 
he  seemed  so  near  and  so  formidable.  But  she  feared  that, 
if  the  gate  were  blown  up,  the  ruined  tower  might  be  shaken 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  483 

down  by  the  explosion.  She  must  stay,  and  save  the  gate, 
until  Stephen  had  reached  the  ground. 

"Thou!"  exclaimed  Maieddine.  "Come  to  me,  heart  of 
my  life,  thou  who  art  mine  forever,  and  thy  friends  shall  be 
spared,  I  promise  thee." 

"I  am  not  thine,  nor  ever  can  be,"  Victoria  answered  him. 
"Go  thou,  or  thou  wilt  be  shot  with  many  bullets.  They  fire 
at  thee  and  I  cannot  stop  them.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  thee 
die." 

"Thou  knowest  that  while  thou  art  on  the  wall  I  cannot  do 
what  I  came  to  do,"  Maieddine  said.  "If  they  kill  me  here, 
my  death  will  be  on  thy  head,  for  I  will  not  go  without  thee. 
Yet  if  thou  hidest  from  me,  I  will  blow  up  the  gate." 

Victoria  did  not  answer,  but  looked  at  the  ruined  tower. 
One  of  its  walls  and  part  of  another  stood  firm,  and  she  could 
not  see  Stephen  in  the  heliographing-chamber  at  the  top. 
But  through  a  crack  between  the  adobe  bricks  she  caught  a 
gleam  of  light,  which  moved.  It  was  Stephen's  lantern,  she 
knew.  He  was  still  there.  Farther  down,  the  crack  widened. 
On  his  way  back,  he  would  see  her,  if  she  were  still  on  the  wall 
above  the  gate.  She  wished  that  he  need  not  learn  she  was 
there,  lest  he  lose  his  nerve  in  making  that  terrible  descent. 
But  every  one  else  knew  that  she  was  trying  to  save  the  gate, 
and  that  while  she  remained,  the  fuse  would  not  be  lighted. 
Saidee,  who  had  come  out  from  the  dining-room  into  the 
courtyard,  could  see  her  on  the  wall,  and  Rostafel  was  babbling 
that  she  was  "une  petite  lionne,  une  merveille  de  courage  et  de 
finesse."  The  Highlanders  knew,  too,  and  were  doing  their 
best  to  rid  her  of  Maieddine,  but,  perhaps  because  of  the  super- 
stition which  made  them  doubt  the  power  of  their  bullets 
against  a  charmed  life,  they  could  not  kill  him,  though  his 
cloak  was  pierced,  and  his  face  burned  by  a  bullet  which  had 
grazed  his  cheek.  Suddenly,  however,  to  the  girl's  surprise 
and  joy,  Maieddine  turned  and  ran  like  a  deer  toward  the 
firing  line  of  the  Arabs.  Then,  as  the  bullets  of  Hamish  and 


484  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Angus  spattered  round  him,  he  wheeled  again  abruptly  and 
came  back  towards  the  bordj  as  if  borne  on  by  a  whirlwind. 
With  a  run,  he  threw  himself  towards  the  gate,  and  leaping 
up  caught  at  the  spikes  for  handhold.  He  grasped  them 
firmly,  though  his  fingers  bled,  got  a  knee  on  the  wall,  and 
freeing  a  hand  snatched  at  Victoria's  dress. 


LI 


SAIDEE,  down  in  the  courtyard,  shrieked  as  she  saw 
her  sister's  danger.      "Fire! — wound  him — make 
him    fall!"     she     screamed     to    Rostafel.     But    to 
fire   would    be    at   risk   of    the  girl's    life,  and  the 
Frenchman  danced  about  aimlessly,  yelling  to  the  men  in  the 
watch-towers. 

In  the  tower,  Stephen  heard  a  woman's  cry  and  thought  the 
voice  was  Victoria's.  His  work  was  done.  He  had  signalled 
for  help,  and,  though  this  apparatus  was  a  battered  stable 
lantern,  a  kitchen-lamp  reflector,  and  a  hand-mirror,  he  had 
got  an  answer.  Away  to  the  north,  a  man  whom  perhaps  he 
would  never  see,  had  flashed  him  back  a  message.  He  could 
not  understand  all,  for  it  is  easier  to  send  than  to  receive 
signals;  but  there  was  something  about  soldiers  at  Bordj 
Azzouz,  changing  garrison,  and  Stephen  believed  that  they 
meant  marching  to  the  rescue.  Now,  his  left  arm  wounded, 
his  head  cut,  and  eyes  half  blinded  with  a  rain  of  rubble 
brought  down  by  an  Arab  bullet,  he  had  made  part  of  the 
descent  when  Saidee  screamed  her  high-pitched  scream  of 
terror. 

He  was  still  far  above  the  remnant  of  stairway,  broken  off 
thirty  feet  above  ground  level.  But,  knowing  that  the  descent 
would  be  more  difficult  than  the  climb,  he  had  torn  into  strips 
the  stout  tablecloth  which  had  wrapped  his  heliographing 
apparatus.  Knotting  the  lengths  together,  he  had  fastened  one 
end  round  a  horn  of  shattered  adobe,  and  tied  the  other  in  a 
slip-noose  under  his  arms.  Now,  he  was  thankfuj  for  this 
precaution.  Instead  of  picking  his  way,  from  foothold  to 

485 


486  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

foothold,  at  the  sound  of  the  cry  he  lowered  himself  rapidly, 
like  a  man  who  goes  down  a  well  on  the  chain  of  a  bucket,  and 
dropped  on  a  pile  of  bricks  which  blocked  the  corkscrew  steps. 
In  a  second  he  was  free  of  the  stretched  rope,  and,  half  running, 
half  falling  down  the  rubbish-blocked  stairway,  he  found  him- 
self, giddy  and  panting,  at  the  bottom.  A  rush  took  him 
across  the  courtyard  to  the  gate;  snatching  Rostafel's  rifle 
and  springing  up  the  wall  stairway,  a  bullet  from  Mai'eddine's 
revolver  struck  him  in  the  shoulder.  For  the  space  of  a  heart- 
beat his  brain  was  in  confusion.  He  knew  that  the  Arab  had 
a  knee  on  the  wall,  and  that  he  had  pulled  Victoria  to  him 
by  her  dress,  which  was  smeared  with  blood.  But  he  did 
not  know  whether  the  blood  was  the  girl's  or  Mai'eddine's, 
and  the  doubt,  and  her  danger,  and  the  rage  of  his  wound 
drove  him  mad.  It  was  not  a  sane  man  who  crashed  down 
Rostafel's  rifle  on  Maieddine's  head,  and  laughed  as  he  struck. 
The  Arab  dropped  over  the  wall  and  fell  on  the  ground  outside 
the  gate,  like  a  dead  man,  his  body  rolling  a  little  way  down 
the  slope.  There  it  lay  still,  in  a  crumpled  heap,  but  the 
marabout  and  two  of  his  men  made  a  dash  to  the  rescue, 
dragging  the  limp  form  out  of  rifle  range.  It  was  a  heroic  act, 
and  the  Highlanders  admired  it  while  they  fired  at  the  heroes. 
One  fell,  to  rise  no  more,  and  already  two  masked  corpses  had 
fallen  from  the  wall  into  the  courtyard,  daring  climbers  shot 
by  Rostafel  as  they  tried  to  drop.  Sickened  by  the  sight  of 
blood,  dazed  by  shots  and  the  sharp  "ping"  of  bullets,  frenzied 
with  horror  at  the  sight  of  Victoria  struggling  in  the  grasp  of 
Maiieddine,  Saidee  sank  down  unconscious  as  Stephen  beat 
the  Arab  off  the  wall. 

"Darling,  precious  one,  for  God's  sake  say  you're  not  hurt!" 
he  stammered,  as  he  caught  Victoria  in  his  arms,  holding  her 
against  his  heart,  as  he  carried  her  down.  He  was  still  a  mad- 
man, mad  with  fear  for  her,  and  love  for  her  —  love  made  ter- 
rible by  the  dread  of  loss.  It  was  new  life  to  hold  her  so,  to 
know  that  she  was  safe,  to  bow  his  forehead  on  her  hair.  There 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  487 

was  no  Margot  or  any  other  woman  in  existence.  Only  this 
girl  and  he,  created  for  each  other,  alone  in  the  world. 

Victoria  clung  to  him  thankfully,  sure  of  his  love  already, 
and  glad  of  his  words. 

"No,  my  dearest,  I'm  not  hurt,"  she  answered.  "But  you 
—  you  are  wounded!" 

"I  don't  know.  If  I  am,  I  don't  feel  it,"  said  Stephen. 
"Nothing  matters  except  you." 

"I  saw  him  shoot  you.  I — I  thought  you  were  killed. 
Put  me  down.  I  want  to  look  at  you." 

She  struggled  in  his  arms,  as  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  gently  he  put  her  down.  But  her  nerves  had 
suffered  more  than  she  knew.  Strength  failed  her,  and  she 
reached  out  to  him  for  help.  Then  he  put  his  arm  round 
her  again,  supporting  her  against  his  wounded  shoulder.  So 
they  looked  at  each  other,  in  the  light  of  the  bonfires,  their 
hearts  in  their  eyes. 

"There's  blood  in  your  hair  and  on  your  face,"  she  said. 
"Oh,  and  on  your  coat.  Maieddine  shot  you." 

"It's  nothing,"  he  said.  "I  feel  no  pain.  Nothing  but 
rapture  that  you're  safe.  I  thought  the  blood  on  your  dress 
might  be " 

"It  was  his,  not  mine.  His  hands  were  bleeding.  Oh, 
poor  Maieddine  —  I  can't  help  pitying  him.  What  if  he  is 
killed?" 

"Don't  think  of  him.  If  he's  dead,  I  killed  him,  not  you, 
and  I  don't  repent.  I'd  do  it  again.  He  deserved  to  die." 

"He  tried  to  kill  you!" 

"I  don't  mean  for  that  reason.  But  come,  darling.  You 
must  go  into  the  house,  I  have  to  take  my  turn  in  the  fighting 
now " 

"You've  done  more  than  any  one  else!"  she  cried,  proudly. 

"No,  it  was  little  enough.  And  there's  the  wall  to  defend. 
I  —  but  look,  your  sister's  fainting." 

"My  Saidee!     And   I  didn't   see   her   lying  there!"     The 


488  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

girl  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  white  bundle  on  the  ground. 
"  Oh,  help  me  get  her  into  the  house." 

"I'll  carry  her." 

But  Victoria  would  help  him.  Together  they  lifted  Saidee, 
and  Stephen  carried  her  across  the  courtyard,  making  a  detour 
to  avoid  passing  the  two  dead  Arabs.  But  Victoria  saw,  and, 
shuddering,  was  speechless. 

"This  time  you'll  promise  to  stay  indoors!"  Stephen  said, 
when  he  had  laid  Saidee  on  the  pile  of  blankets  in  a  corner  of 
the  room. 

"Yes  —  yes  —  I  promise!" 

The  girl  gave  him  both  hands.  He  kissed  them,  and  then, 
without  turning,  went  out  and  shut  the  door.  It  was  only  at 
this  moment  that  he  remembered  Margot,  remembered  her  with 
anguish,  because  of  the  echo  of  Victoria's  voice  in  his  ears  as 
she  named  him  her  "dearest." 

As  Stephen  came  from  behind  the  barricade  which  screened 
the  dining-room  from  the  courtyard,  he  found  Rostafel  shooting 
right  and  left  at  men  who  tried  to  climb  the  rear  wall,  having 
been  missed  by  Nevill's  fire.  Rostafel  had  recovered  the 
rifle  snatched  by  Stephen  in  his  stampede  to  the  stairway,  and, 
sobered  by  the  fight,  was  making  good  use  of  it.  Stephen  had 
now  armed  himself  with  his  own,  left  for  safety  behind  the 
barrier  while  he  signalled  in  the  tower;  and  together  the  two 
men  had  hot  work  in  the  quadrangle.  Here  and  there  an 
escalader  escaped  the  fire  from  the  watch-towers,  and  hung 
half  over  the  wall,  but  dropped  alive  into  the  courtyard,  only 
to  be  bayoneted  by  the  Frenchman.  The  signalling-tower 
gave  little  shelter  against  the  enemy,  as  most  of  the  outer  wall 
had  fallen  above  the  height  of  twenty  feet  from  the  ground; 
but,  as  without  it  only  three  sides  of  the  quadrangle  could  be 
fully  defended,  once  again  Stephen  scrambled  up  the  choked 
and  broken  stairway.  Screening  himself  as  best  he  could  behind 
a  jagged  ledge  of  adobe,  he  fired  through  a  crack  at  three  or  four 
Arabs  who  made  a  human  ladder  for  a  comrade  to  mount  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  489 

wall.  The  man  at  the  top  fell.  The  next  mounted,  to  be  shot 
by  Nevill  from  a  watch-tower.  The  bullet  pierced  the  fellow's 
leg,  which  was  what  Nevill  wished,  for  he,  who  hated  to  rob 
even  an  insect  of  its  life,  aimed  now  invariably  at  arms  or  legs, 
never  at  any  vital  part.  "All  we  want,"  he  thought  half 
guiltily,  "is  to  disable  the  poor  brutes.  They  must  obey  the 
marabout.  We've  no  spite  against  'em!" 

But  every  one  knew  that  it  was  a  question  of  moments  only 
before  some  Arab,  quicker  or  luckier  than  the  rest,  would 
succeed  in  firing  the  trail  of  gunpowder  already  laid.  The 
gate  would  be  blown  up.  Then  would  follow  a  rush  of  the 
enemy  and  the  second  stand  of  the  defenders  behind  the 
barricade.  Last  of  all,  the  retreat  to  the  dining-room. 

Among  the  first  precautions  Stephen  had  taken  was  that  of 
locking  the  doors  of  all  rooms  except  the  dining-room,  and 
pulling  out  the  keys,  so  that,  when  the  enemy  got  into  the  quad- 
rangle, they  would  find  themselves  forced  to  stay  in  the  open, 
or  take  shelter  in  the  watch-towers  vacated  by  the  defenders. 
From  the  doorways  of  these,  they  could  not  do  much  harm  to 
the  men  behind  the  barricade.  But  there  was  one  thing  they 
might  do,  against  which  Stephen  had  not  guarded.  The  idea 
flashed  into  his  head  now,  too  late.  There  were  the  stalls 
where  the  animals  were  tied.  The  Arabs  could  use  the  beasts 
for  a  living  barricade,  firing  over  their  backs.  Stephen 
grudged  this  advantage,  and  was  puzzling  his  brain  how  to 
prevent  the  enemy  from  taking  it,  when  a  great  light  blazed 
into  the  sky,  followed  by  the  roar  of  an  explosion. 

The  tower  shook,  and  Stephen  was  thrown  off  his  feet.  For 
half  a  second  he  was  dazed,  but  came  to  himself  in  the  act  of 
tumbling  down  stairs,  still  grasping  his  rifle. 

A  huge  hole  yawned  where  the  gate  had  stood.  The  iron 
had  shrivelled  and  curled  like  so  much  cardboard,  and  the 
gap  was  filled  with  circling  wreaths  of  smoke  and  a  crowd 
of  Arabs.  Mad  with  fear,  the  camels  and  horses  tethered  in 
the  stables  of  the  bordj  broke  their  halters  and  plunged  wildly 


490  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

about  the  courtyard,  looming  like  strange  monsters  in  the  red 
light  and  belching  smoke.  As  if  to  serve  the  defenders,  they 
galloped  toward  the  gate,  cannoning  against  each  other  in  the 
struggle  to  escape,  and  thus  checked  the  first  rush  of  the 
enemy.  Nearly  all  were  shot  down  by  the  Arabs,  but  a  few 
moments  were  gained  for  the  Europeans.  Firing  as  he  ran, 
Stephen  made  a  dash  for  the  barricade,  where  he  found  Ros- 
tafel,  and  as  the  enemy  swarmed  into  the  quadrangle,  pouring 
over  dead  and  dying  camels,  the  two  Highlanders  burst  with 
yells  like  the  slogans  of  their  fighting  ancestors,  out  from  the 
watch-towers  nearest  the  gateway. 

The  sudden  apparition  of  these  gigantic  twin  figures,  bare- 
legged, dressed  in  kilts,  appalled  the  Arabs.  Some,  who  had 
got  farthest  into  the  courtyard,  were  taken  in  the  rear  by  Angus 
and  Hamish;.  and  as  the  Highlanders  laid  about  them  with 
clubbed  rifles,  the  superstitious  Easterners  wavered.  Imagining 
themselves  assailed  by  giant  women  with  the  strength  of  devils, 
they  fell  back  dismayed,  and  for  some  wild  seconds  the  twins 
were  masters  of  the  quadrangle.  They  broke  heads  with 
crushing  blows,  and  smashed  ribs  with  trampling  feet,  yelling 
their  fearsome  yells  which  seemed  the  cries  of  death  and  war. 
But  it  was  the  triumph  of  a  moment  only,  and  then  the  Arabs 
—  save  those  who  would  fight  no  more  —  rallied  round  their 
leader,  a  tall,  stout  man  with  a  majestic  presence.  Once  he 
had  got  his  men  in  hand  —  thirteen  or  fourteen  he  had  left  — 
the  open  courtyard  was  too  hot  a  place  even  for  the  Highland 
men.  They  retreated,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  towards  the 
barricade,  and  soon  were  firing  viciously  from  behind  its  shelter. 
If  they  lived  through  this  night,  never  again,  it  would  seem, 
could  they  be  satisfied  with  the  daily  round  of  preparing  an 
old  lady's  bath,  and  pressing  upon  her  dishes  which  she  did 
not  want.  And  yet  —  their  mistress  was  an  exceptional  old 
lady. 

Now,  all  the  towers  were  vacant,  except  the  one  defended  by 
Nevill,  and  it  had  been  agreed  from  the  first  that  he  was  to 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  491 

stick  to  his  post  until  time  for  the  last  stand.  The  reason 
of  this  was  that  the  door  of  his  tower  was  screened  by  the 
barricade,  and  the  two  rear  walls  of  the  bordj  (meeting  in  a 
triangle  at  this  corner)  must  be  defended  while  the  barricade 
was  held.  These  walls  unguarded,  the  enemy  could  climb 
them  from  outside  and  fire  down  on  the  backs  of  the  Europeans, 
behind  the  barrier.  Those  who  attempted  to  climb  from  the 
courtyard  (the  gate-stairway  being  destroyed  by  the  explosion) 
must  face  the  fire  of  the  defenders,  who  could  also  see  and 
protect  themselves  against  any  one  mounting  the  wall  to  pass 
over  the  scattered  debris  of  the  ruined  signal-tower.  Thus 
every  contingency  was  provided  for,  as  well  as  might  be  by 
five  men,  against  three  times  their  number;  and  the  Euro- 
peans meant  to  make  a  stubborn  fight  before  that  last  resort 
—  the  dining-room.  Nevertheless,  it  occurred  to  Stephen 
that  perhaps,  after  all,  he  need  not  greatly  repent  the  con- 
fession of  love  he  had  made  to  Victoria.  He  had  had  no  right 
to  speak,  but  if  there  were  to  be  no  future  for  either  in  this  world, 
fate  need  not  grudge  him  an  hour's  happiness.  And  he  was 
conscious  of  a  sudden  lightness  of  spirit,  as  of  an  exile  nearing 
home. 

The  Arabs,  sheltering  behind  the  camels  and  horses  they  had 
shot,  fired  continuously  in  the  hope  of  destroying  a  weak  part 
of  the  barricade  or  killing  some  one  behind  it.  Gradually 
they  formed  of  the  dead  animals  a  barricade  of  their  own,  and 
now  that  the  bonfires  were  dying  it  was  difficult  for  the  Euro- 
peans to  touch  the  enemy  behind  cover.  Consulting  together, 
however,  and  calculating  how  many  dead  each  might  put  to 
his  credit,  the  defenders  agreed  that  they  must  have  killed  or 
disabled  more  than  a  dozen.  The  marabout,  whose  figure 
in  one  flashing  glimpse  Stephen  fancied  he  recognized,  was  still 
apparently  unhurt.  It  was  he  who  seemed  to  be  conducting 
operations,  but  of  Si  Ma'ieddine  nothing  had  been  seen  since 
his  unconscious  or  dead  body  was  dragged  down  the  slope 
by  his  friends.  Precisely  how  many  Arabs  remained  to  fight, 


492  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

the  Europeans  were  not  sure,  but  they  believed  that  over  a 
dozen  were  left,  counting  the  leader. 

By  and  by  the  dying  fires  flickered  out,  leaving  only  a  dull 
red  glow  on  the  roofs.  The  pale  light  of  the  stars  seemed  dim 
after  the  blaze  which  had  lit  the  quadrangle,  and  in  the  semi- 
darkness,  when  each  side  watched  the  other  as  a  cat  spies  at  a 
rat-hole,  the  siege  grew  wearisome.  Yet  the  Europeans  felt 
that  each  moment's  respite  meant  sixty  seconds  of  new  hope 
for  them.  Ammunition  was  running  low,  and  soon  they  must 
fall  back  upon  the  small  supply  kept  by  Rostafel,  which  had 
already  been  placed  in  the  dining-room;  but  matters  were 
not  quite  desperate,  since  each  minute  brought  the  soldiers 
from  Bordj  Azzouz  nearer,  even  if  the  carrier  pigeon  had 
failed. 

"Why  do  they  not  blow  us  up  ?"  asked  the  Frenchman,  sober 
now,  and  extremely  pessimistic.  "They  could  do  it.  Or 
is  it  the  women  they  are  after  ?  " 

Stephen  was  not  inclined  to  be  confidential.  "No  doubt  they 
have  their  own  reasons,"  he  answered.  "What  they  are, 
can't  matter  to  us." 

"It  matters  that  they  are  concocting  some  plan,  and  that  we 
do  not  know  what  it  is,"  said  Rostafel. 

"To  get  on  to  the  roof  over  our  heads  is  what  they'd  like 
best,  no  doubt,"  said  Stephen.  "But  my  friend  in  the  tower 
here  is  saving  us  from  that  at  the  back,  and  they  can't  do  much 
in  front  of  our  noses." 

"I  am  not  sure  they  cannot.  They  will  think  of  something," 
grumbled  the  landlord.  "We  are  in  a  bad  situation.  I  do 
not  believe  any  of  us  will  see  to-morrow.  I  only  hope  my 
brother  will  have  the  spirit  to  revenge  me.  But  even  that  is 
not  my  luck." 

He  was  right.  The  Arabs  had  thought  of  something  —  "a 
something"  which  they  must  have  prepared  before  their  start. 
Suddenly,  behind  the  mound  of  dead  animals  arose  a  fitful 
light,  and  while  the  Europeans  wondered  at  its  meaning,  a 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  493 

shower  of  burning  projectiles  flew  through  the  air  at  the  barri- 
cade. All  four  fired  a  volley  in  answer,  hoping  to  wing  the 
throwers,  but  the  Arab  scheme  was  a  success.  Tins  of  blazing 
pitch  were  rolling  about  the  courtyard,  close  to  the  barrier, 
but  before  falling  they  had  struck  the  piled  mattresses  and 
furniture,  splashing  fire  and  trickles  of  flame  poured  over  the 
old  bedticking,  and  upholstered  chairs  from  the  dining-room. 
At  the  same  instant  Nevill  called  from  the  door  of  his  tower: 
"  More  cartridges,  quick!  I'm  all  out,  and  there  are  two  chaps 
trying  to  shin  up  the  wall.  Maieddine's  not  dead.  He's 
there,  directing  'em." 

Stephen  gave  Nevill  his  own  rifle,  just  reloaded.  "Fetch 
the  cartridges  stored  in  the  dining-room,"  he  said  to  Rostafel, 
"while  we  beat  the  fire  out  with  our  coats."  But  there  was  no 
need  for  the  Frenchman  to  leave  his  post.  "Here  are  the 
cartridges,"  said  Victoria's  voice,  surprising  them.  She  had  been 
at  the  door,  which  she  held  ajar,  and  behind  this  screen  had 
heard  and  seen  all  that  passed.  As  Stephen  took  the  box 
of  cartridges,  she  caught  up  the  large  pail  of  water  which  early 
in  the  evening  had  been  placed  in  the  dining-room  in  case  of 
need.  "Take  this  and  put  out  the  fire,"  she  cried  to  Hamish, 
who  snatched  the  bucket  without  a  word,  and  dashed  its 
contents  over  the  barricade. 

Then  she  went  back  to  Saidee,  who  sat  on  the  blankets  in  a 
far  corner,  shivering  with  cold,  though  the  night  was  hot,  and  the 
room,  with  its  barred  wooden  shutters,  close  almost  beyond 
bearing.  They  had  kept  but  one  tallow  candle  lighted,  that 
Victoria  might  more  safely  peep  out  from  time  to  time,  to  see 
how  the  fight  was  going. 

"What  if  our  men  are  all  killed,"  Saidee  whispered,  as  the 
girl  stole  back  to  her,  "and  nobody's  left  to  defend  us?  Cas- 
sim  and  Mai'eddine  will  open  the  door,  over  their  dead  bodies, 
and  then  —  then " 

"You  have  a  revolver,"  said  Victoria,  almost  angrily.  "Not 
for  them,  I  don't  mean  that.  Only  —  they  mustn't  take  us. 


494 

But  I'm  not  afraid.  Our  men  are  brave,  and  splendid.  They 
have  no  thought  of  giving  up.  And  if  Captain  Sabine  got  our 
message,  he'll  be  here  by  dawn." 

"Don't  forget  the  shot  we  heard." 

"No.     But  the  pigeon  isn't  our  only  hope.     The  signals!" 

"Who  knows  if  an  answer  came?" 

"I  know,  because  I  know  Stephen.  He  wouldn't  have  come 
down  alive  unless  he'd  got  an  answer." 

Saidee  said  no  more,  and  they  sat  together  in  silence,  Victoria, 
holding  her  sister's  icy  hand  in  hers,  which  was  scarcely  warmer, 
though  it  tingled  with  the  throbbing  of  many  tiny  pulses.  So 
they  listened  to  the  firing  outside,  until  suddenly  it  sounded 
different  to  Victoria's  ears.  She  straightened  herself  with  a 
start,  listening  even  more  intensely. 

"What's  the  matter?  What  do  you  hear?"  Saidee  stam- 
mered, dry-lipped. 

"I'm  not  sure.  But — I  think  they've  used  up  all  the 
cartridges  I  took  them.  And  there  are  no  more." 

"But  they're  firing  still." 

"With  their  revolvers." 

"God  help  us,  then!  It  can't  last  long,"  the  older  woman 
whispered,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Victoria  did  not  stop  for  words  of  comfort.  She  jumped  up 
from  the  couch  of  blankets  and  ran  to  the  door,  which  Stephen 
had  shut.  It  must  be  kept  wide  open,  now,  in  case  the  de- 
fenders were  obliged  to  rush  in  for  the  last  stand.  She  pressed 
close  to  it,  convulsively  grasping  the  handle  with  her  cold  fingers. 

Then  the  end  came  soon,  for  the  enemy  had  not  been  slow  to 
detect  the  difference  between  rifle  and  revolver  shots.  They 
knew,  even  before  Victoria  guessed,  exactly  what  had  happened. 
It  was  the  event  they  had  been  awaiting.  With  a  rush,  the 
dozen  men  dashed  over  the  mound  of  carcasses  and  charged 
the  burning  barricade. 

"Quick,  Wings,"  shouted  Stephen,  defending  the  way  his 
friend  must  take.  The  distance  was  short  from  the  door  of 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  495 

the  watch-tower  to  the  door. of  the  dining-room,  but  it  was 
just  too  long  for  safety.  As  Nevill  ran  across,  an  Arab  close 
to  the  barricade  shot  him  in  the  side,  and  he  would  have  fallen 
if  Stephen  had  not  caught  him  round  the  waist,  and  flung  him 
to  Hamish,  who  carried  him  to  shelter. 

A  second  more,  and  they  were  all  in  the  dining-room.  Ste- 
phen and  Angus  had  barred  the  heavy  door,  and  already  Ham- 
ish and  Rostafel  were  firing  through  the  two  round  ventilating 
holes  in  the  window  shutters.  There  were  two  more  such  holes 
in  the  door,  and  Stephen  took  one,  Angus  the  other.  But 
the  enemy  had  already  sheltered  on  the  other  side  of  the  barri- 
cade, which  would  now  serve  them  as  well  as  it  had  served  the 
Europeans.  The  water  dashed  on  to  the  flames  had  not  extin- 
guished all,  but  the  wet  mattresses  and  furniture  burned 
slowly,  and  the  Arabs  began  beating  out  the  fire  with  their 
gandourahs. 

Again  there  was  a  deadlock.  For  the  moment  neither  side 
could  harm  the  other:  but  there  was  little  doubt  in  the  minds 
of  the  besieged  as  to  the  next  move  of  the  besiegers.  The 
Arabs  were  at  last  free  to  climb  the  wall,  beyond  reach  of  the 
loopholes  in  door  or  window,  and  could  make  a  hole  in  the  roof 
of  the  dining-room.  It  would  take  them  some  time,  but  they 
could  do  it,  and  meanwhile  the  seven  prisoners  were  almost  as 
helpless  as  trapped  rats. 

Of  the  five  men,  not  one  was  unwounded,  and  Stephen  began 
to  fear  that  Nevill  was  badly  hurt.  He  could  not  breathe  with- 
out pain,  and  though  he  tried  to  laugh,  he  was  deadly  pale  in 
the  wan  candlelight.  "Don't  mind  me.  I'm  all  right,"  he 
said  when  Victoria  and  Saidee  began  tearing  up  their  Arab 
veils  for  bandages.  "Not  worth  the  bother!"  But  the 
sisters  would  not  listen,  and  Victoria  told  him  with  pretended 
cheerfulness  what  a  good  nurse  she  was;  how  she  had  learned 
"first  aid"  at  the  school  at  Potterston,  and  taken  a  prize  for 
efficiency. 

In  spite  of  his  protest,  Nevill  was  made  to  lie  down  on  the 


496  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

blankets  in  the  corner,  while  the  two  sisters  played  doctor; 
and  as  the  firing  of  the  Arabs  slackened,  Stephen  left  the  twins 
to  guard  door  and  window,  while  he  and  Rostafel  built  a  screen 
to  serve  when  the  breaking  of  the  roof  should  begin.  The 
only  furniture  left  in  the  dining-room  consisted  of  one  large 
table  (which  Stephen  had  not  added  to  the  barricade  be- 
cause he  had  thought  of  this  contingency)  and  in  addition  a 
rough  unpainted  cupboard,  fastened  to  the  wall.  They  tore 
off  the  doors  of  this  cupboard,  and  with  them  and  the  table 
made  a  kind  of  penthouse  to  protect  the  corner  where  Nevill 
lay. 

"Now,"  said  Stephen,  "if  they  dig  a  hole  in  the  roof  they'll 
find- 

"Flag  o'  truce,  sir,"  announced  Hamish  at  the  door.  And 
Stephen  remembered  that  for  three  minutes  at  least  there  had 
been  no  firing.  As  he  worked  at  the  screen,  he  had  hardly 
noticed  the  silence. 

He  hurried  to  join  Hamish  at  the  door,  and,  peeping  out, 
saw  a  tall  man,  with  a  bloodstained  bandage  wrapped  round 
his  head,  advancing  from  the  other  side  of  the  barricade,  with  a 
white  handkerchief  hanging  from  the  barrel  of  his  rifle.  It 
was  Maieddine,  and  somehow  Stephen  was  glad  that  the  Arab's 
death  did  not  lie  at  his  door.  His  anger  had  cooled,  now, 
and  he  wondered  at  the  murderous  rage  which  had  passed. 

As  Maieddine  came  forward,  fearlessly,  he  limped  in  spite  of 
an  effort  to  hide  the  fact  that  he  was  almost  disabled. 

"  I  have  to  say  that,  if  the  ladies  are  given  up  to  us,  no  harm 
shall  come  to  them  or  to  the  others,"  he  announced  in  French, 
in  a  clear,  loud  voice.  "  We  will  take  the  women  with  us,  and 
leave  the  men  to  go  their  own  way.  We  will  even  provide  them 
with  animals  in  place  of  those  we  have  killed,  that  they  may 
ride  to  the  north." 

"  Do  not  believe  him ! "  cried  Saidee.  "  Traitors  once,  they'll 
be  traitors  again.  If  Victoria  and  I  should  consent  to  go  with 
them,  to  save  all  your  lives,  they  wouldn't  spare  you  really. 


THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE  497 

As  soon  as  we  were  in  their  hands,  they'd  burn  the  house  or 
blow  it  up." 

"There  can  be  no  question  of  our  allowing  you  to  go,  in 
any  case,"  said  Stephen.  "Our  answer  is,"  he  replied  to 
Mai'eddine,  "  that  the  ladies  prefer  to  remain  with  us,  and  we 
expect  to  be  able  to  protect  them." 

"Then  all  will  die  together,  except  one,  who  is  my  promised 
wife,"  returned  the  Arab.  "Tell  that  one  that  by  coming  with 
me  she  can  save  her  sister,  whom  she  once  seemed  to  love  more 
than  herself,  more  than  all  the  world.  If  she  stays,  not  only 
will  her  eyes  behold  the  death  of  the  men  who  failed  to  guard 
her,  but  the  death  of  her  sister.  One  who  has  a  right  to  decide 
the  lady's  fate,  has  decided  that  she  must  die  in  punishment  of 
her  obstinacy,  unless  she  gives  herself  up." 

"  Tell  Si  Mai'eddine  that  before  he  or  the  marabout  can  come 
near  us,  we  shall  be  dead,"  Victoria  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
know  Saidee  and  I  can  trust  you,"  she  went  on,  "  to  shoot  us 
both  straight  through  the  heart  rather  than  they  should  take 
us.  That's  what  you  wish,  too,  isn't  it,  Saidee  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes,  if  I  have  courage  or  heart  enough  to  wisk 
anything,"  her  sister  faltered. 

But  Stephen  could  not  or  would  not  give  that  message  to 
Mai'eddine.  "  Go,"  he  said,  the  fire  of  his  old  rage  flaming 
again.  "  Go,  you  Arab  dog ! " 

Forgetting  the  flag  of  truce  in  his  fury  at  the  insult,  Maied- 
dine  lifted  his  rifle  and  fired;  then,  remembering  that  he  had 
sinned  against  a  code  of  honour  he  respected,  he  stood  still, 
waiting  for  an  answering  shot,  as  if  he  and  his  rival  were 
engaged  in  a  strange  duel.  But  Stephen  did  not  shoot,  and 
with  a  quick  word  forbade  the  others  to  fire.  Then  Mai'eddine 
moved  away  slowly  and  was  lost  to  sight  behind  the  barricade. 

As  he  disappeared,  a  candle  which  Victoria  had  placed  near 
Nevill's  couch  on  the  floor,  flickered  and  dropped  its  wick  in  a 
pool  of  grease.  There  was  only  one  other  left,  and  the  lamp 
had  been  forgotten  in  the  kitchen :  but  already  the  early  dawn 


498  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

/ 
was  drinking  the  starlight.     It  was  three  o'clock,  and  soon  it 

would  be  day. 

For  some  minutes  there  was  no  more  firing.  Stillness  had 
fallen  in  the  quadrangle.  There  was  no  sound  except  the  faint 
moaning  of  some  wounded  animal  that  lived  and  suffered. 
Then  came  a  pounding  on  the  roof,  not  in  one,  but  in  two  or 
three  places.  It  was  as  if  men  worked  furiously,  with  pick- 
axes; and  somehow  Stephen  was  sure  that  Mai'eddine,  despite 
his  wounds,  was  among  them.  He  would  wish  to  be  the  first  to 
see  Victoria's  face,  to  save  her  from  death,  perhaps,  and  keep 
her  for  himself.  Still,  Stephen  was  glad  he  had  not  killed  the 
Arab,  and  he  felt,  though  they  said  nothing  of  it  to  each  other, 
that  Victoria,  too,  was  glad. 

They  must  have  help  soon  now,  if  it  were  to  come  in  time. 
The  knocking  on  the  roof  was  loud. 

"  How  long  before  they  can  break  through  ?  "  Victoria  asked, 
leaving  Nevill  to  come  to  Stephen,  who  guarded  the  door. 

"Well,  there  are  several  layers  of  thick  adobe,"  he  said, 
cheerfully. 

"Will  it  be  ten  minutes?" 

"Oh,  more  than  that.  Much  more  than  that,"  Stephen 
assured  her. 

"Please  tell  me  what  you  truly  think.  I  have  a  reason  for 
asking.  Will  it  be  half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  At  least  that,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  of  grave  sincerity  which 
she  no  longer  doubted. 

"Half  an  hour.     And  then " 

"Even  then  we  can  keep  you  safe  for  a  little  while,  behind 
the  screen.  And  help  may  come." 

"  Have  you  given  up  hope,  in  your  heart  ? " 

"No.     One  doesn't  give  up  hope." 

"  I  feel  the  same.  I  never  give  up  hope.  And  yet  —  we 
may  have  to  die,  all  of  us,  and  for  myself,  I'm  not  afraid,  only 
very  solemn,  for  death  must  be  wonderful.  But  for  you  — 
to  have  you  give  your  life  for  ours " 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  499 

"I  would  give  it  joyfully,  a  hundred  times  for  you." 

"I  know.  And  I  for  you.  That's  one  thing  I  wanted  to 
tell  you,  in  case  —  we  never  have  a  chance  to  speak  to  each 
other  again.  That,  and  just  this  beside:  one  reason  I'm  not 
afraid,  is  because  I'm  with  you.  If  I  die,  or  live,  I  shall  be 
with  you.  And  whichever  it's  to  be,  I  shall  find  it  sweet. 
One  will  be  the  same  as  the  other,  really,  for  death's  only  a  new 
life." 

"And  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  Stephen  said.  "I 
worship  you,  and  to  have  known  you,  has  made  it  worth  while 
to  have  existed,  though  I  haven't  always  been  happy.  Why, 
just  this  moment  alone  is  worth  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  So 
come  what  may,  I  have  lived." 

The  pounding  on  the  roof  grew  louder.  The  sound  of  the 
picks  with  which  the  men  worked  could  be  heard  more  clearly. 
They  were  rapidly  getting  through  those  layers  of  adobe,  of 
whose  thickness  Stephen  had  spoken. 

"  It  won't  be  half  an  hour  now,"  Victoria  murmured,  looking 
up. 

"  No.  Promise  me  you'll  go  to  your  sister  and  Nevill  Caird 
behind  the  screen,  when  I  tell  you." 

"I  promise,  if " 

The  pounding  ceased.  In  the  courtyard  there  was  a  certain 
confusion  —  the  sound  of  running  feet,  and  murmur  of  excited 
voices,  though  eyes  that  looked  through  the  holes  in  the  door 
and  window  could  not  see  past  the  barricade. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  pounding  began  again,  more  furiously 
than  ever.  It  was  as  if  demons  had  taken  the  place  of  men. 

"It  is  Maieddine,  I'm  sure!"  cried  Victoria.  "I  seem  to 
know  what  is  in  his  mind.  Something  has  made  him  des- 
perate." 

"There's  a  chance  for  us,"  said  Stephen.  "What  I  believe 
has  happened,  is  this.  They  must  have  stationed  a  sentinel  or 
two  outside  the  bordj  in  case  of  surprise.  The  raised  voices 
we  heard,  and  the  stopping  of  the  work  on  the  roof  for  a  minute, 


500  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

may  have  meant  that  a  sentinel  ran  in  with  news  —  good  news 
for  us,  bad  news  for  the  Arabs." 

"But — would  they  have  begun  to  work  again,  if  soldiers 
were  coming?" 

"Yes,  if  help  were  so  far  off  that  the  Arabs  might  hope  to  reach 
us  before  it  came,  and  get  away  in  time.  Ben  Halim's  one  hope 
is  to  make  an  end  of  —  some  of  us.  It  was  well  enough  to 
disguise  the  whole  band  as  Touaregs,  in  case  they  were  seen  by 
nomads,  or  the  landlord  here  should  escape,  and  tell  of  the 
attack.  But  he'd  risk  anything  to  silence  us  men,  and 

"He  cares  nothing  for  Saidee's  life  or  mine.  It's  only 
Maleddine  who  cares,"  the  girl  broke  in.  "I  suppose  they've 
horses  and  meharis  waiting  for  them  outside  the  bordj  ? " 

"Yes.  Probably  they're  being  got  ready  now.  The  animals 
have  had  a  night's  rest." 

As  he  spoke,  the  first  bit  of  ceiling  fell  in,  rough  plaster 
dropping  with  a  patter  like  rain  on  the  hard  clay  floor. 

Saidee  cried  out  faintly  in  her  corner,  where  Nevill  had 
fallen  into  semi-unconsciousness  behind  the  screen.  Rostafel 
grumbled  a  "sapriste!"  under  his  breath,  but  the  Highlanders 
were  silent. 

Down  poured  more  plaster,  and  put  out  the  last  candle. 
Though  a  faint  dawn-light  stole  through  the  holes  in  door  and 
window,  the  room  was  dim,  almost  dark,  and  with  the  smell 
of  gunpowder  mingled  the  stench  of  hot  tallow. 

"  Go  now,  dearest,  to  your  sister,"  Stephen  said  to  the  girl,  in 
a  low  voice  that  was  for  her  alone. 

"You  will  come?" 

"Yes.  Soon.  But  the  door  and  window  must  be  guarded. 
We  can't  have  them  breaking  in  two  ways  at  once. " 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  she  said. 

He  took  one  of  hers,  instead,  but  she  raised  his  to  her  lips 
and  kissed  it.  Then  she  went  back  to  her  sister,  and  the  two 
clung  together  in  silence,  listening  to  the  patter  of  broken  adobe 
on  the  floor.  At  first  it  was  but  as  a  heavy  shower  of  rain;  then 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  501 

it  increased  in  violence  like  the  rattle  of  hail.  They  could  hear 
men  speaking  on  the  roof,  and  a  gleam  of  daylight  silvered  a 
crack,  as  Stephen  looked  up,  a  finger  on  the  trigger  of  his  revolver. 

"Five  minutes  more,"  were  the  words  which  repeated  them- 
selves in  his  mind,  like  the  ticking  of  a  watch.  "Four  minutes. 
Three.  Can  I  keep  my  promise  to  her,  when  the  time  comes !" 

A  shout  broke  the  question  short,  like  a  snapped  thread. 

He  remembered  the  voice  of  the  marabout,  and  knew  that 
the  sisters  must  recognize  it  also. 

"What  does  he  say?"  Stephen  called  across  the  room  to 
Victoria,  speaking  loudly  to  be  heard  over  voices  which  an- 
swered the  summons,  whatever  it  might  be. 

"He's  ordering  Maieddine  to  come  down  from  the  roof. 
He  says  five  seconds'  delay  and  it  will  be  too  late  —  they'll 
both  be  ruined.  I  can't  hear  what  Maieddine  answers.  But 
he  goes  on  working  still  —  he  won't  obey." 

"Fool — traitor!  For  thy  sentimental  folly  wilt  thou 
sacrifice  thy  people's  future  and  ruin  my  son  and  me  ?"  Cassim 
shouted,  as  the  girl  stood  still  to  listen.  "Thou  canst  never 
have  her  now.  Stay,  and  thou  canst  do  naught  but  kill  thy- 
self. Come,  and  we  may  all  be  saved.  I  command  thee, 
in  the  name  of  Allah  and  His  Prophet,  that  thou  obey  me." 

The  pounding  stopped.  There  was  a  rushing,  sliding  sound 
on  the  roof.  Then  all  was  quiet  above  and  in  the  courtyard. 

Saidee  broke  into  hysterical  sobbing,  crying  that  they  were 
rescued,  that  Honore  Sabine  was  on  his  way  to  save  them. 
And  Victoria  thought  that  Stephen  would  come  to  her,  but  he 
did  not.  They  were  to  live,  not  to  die,  and  the  barrier  that 
had  been  broken  down  was  raised  again. 


"What  if  it's  only  a  trap  ?"  Saidee  asked,  as  Stephen  opened 
the  door.     "What  if  they're  behind  the  barricade,  watching?" 
"Listen!     Don't  you  hear  shots?"  Victoria  cried. 


502  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"Yes.  There  are  shots  — far  away,"  Stephen  answered. 
"That  settles  it.  There's  no  ambush.  Either  Sabine  or  the 
soldiers  marching  from  Azzouz  are  after  them.  They  didn't 
go  an  instant  too  soon  to  save  their  skins." 

"And  ours,"  murmured  Nevill,  roused  from  his  stupor. 
"Queer,  how  natural  it  seems  that  we  should  be  all  right  after 
all."  Then  his  mind  wandered  a  little,  leading  him  back  to  a 
feverish  dream.  "Ask  Sabine,  when  he  comes — if  he's  got 
a  letter  for  me  —  from  Josette." 

Stephen  opened  the  door,  and  let  in  the  fresh  air  and  morning 
light,  but  the  sight  in  the  quadrangle  was  too  ugly  for  the  eyes 
of  women.  "Don't  come  out!"  he  called  sharply  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  turned  past  the  barricade,  with  Rostafel  at  his 
back. 

The  courtyard  was  hideous  as  a  slaughter-house.  Only 
the  sky  of  rose  and  gold  reminded  him  of  the  world's 
beauty  and  the  glory  of  morning,  after  that  dark  nightmare 
which  wrapped  his  spirit  like  the  choking  folds  of  a  black 
snake. 

Outside  the  broken  gate,  in  the  desert,  there  were  more 
traces  of  the  night's  work;  blood-stains  in  the  sand,  and  in  a 
shadowy  hollow  here  and  there  a  huddled  form  which  seemed 
a  denser  shadow.  But  it  would  not  move  when  other  shadows 
crept  away  before  the  sun. 

Far  in  the  distance,  as  Stephen  strained  his  eyes  through 
the  brightening  dawn,  he  saw  flying  figures  of  men  on  camels 
and  horses;  and  sounds  of  shooting  came  faintly  to  his  ears. 
At  last  it  ceased  altogether.  Some  of  the  figures  had  vanished. 
Others  halted.  Then  it  seemed  to  Stephen  that  these  last 
were  coming  back,  towards  the  bordj.  They  were  riding  fast, 
and  all  together,  as  if  under  discipline.  Soldiers,  certainly: 
but  were  they  from  the  north  or  south?  Stephen  could  not 
tell;  but  as  his  eyes  searched  the  horizon,  the  doubt  was  solved. 
Another  party  of  men  were  riding  southward,  toward  Toudja, 
from  the  north. 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  503 

"It's  Sabine  who  has  chased  the  Arabs.  The  others  are 
just  too  late,"  he  thought.  And  he  saw  that  the  rescuers 
from  Oued  Tolga  must  reach  the  bordj  half  an  hour  in  ad- 
vance of  the  men  from  Azzouz. 

He  was  anxious  to  know  what  news  Sabine  had,  and  the 
eagerness  he  felt  to  hear  details  soothed  the  pain  and  shame 
which  weighed  upon  his  heart. 

"How  am  I  to  explain  — to  beg  her  forgiveness?"  was  the 
question  that  asked  itself  in  his  mind;  but  he  had  no  answer 
to  give.  Only  this  he  could  see:  after  last  night,  he  was  hers, 
if  she  would  take  him.  But  he  believed  that  she  would  send 
him  away,  that  she  would  despise  him  when  she  had  heard 
the  whole  story  of  his  entanglement.  She  would  say  that  he 
belonged  to  the  other  woman,  not  to  her.  And  though  he 
was  sure  she  would  not  reproach  him,  he  thought  there  were 
some  words,  some  looks  which,  if  she  could  not  forget,  it  would 
be  hard  for  even  her  sweet  nature  to  forgive. 

He  went  back  to  the  dining-room  with  the  news  of  what  he 
had  seen.  And  as  there  was  no  longer  any  need  of  protection 
for  the  women,  the  Highlanders  came  out  with  him  and  Ros- 
tafel.  All  four  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  bordj  as  the  party  of 
twelve  soldiers  rode  up,  on  tired  horses;  but  Stephen  was  in 
advance,  and  it  was  he  who  answered  Sabine's  first  breathless 
question. 

"  She's  safe.  They're  both  safe,  thank  God.  So  are  we  all, 
except  poor  Caird,  who's  damaged  a  good  deal  worse  than  any 
of  us.  But  not  dangerously,  I  hope." 

"  I  brought  our  surgeon,"  said  Sabine,  eagerly.  "  He  wantefi 
to  be  in  this  with  me.  I  had  to  ask  for  the  command,  because 
you  know  I'm  on  special  duty  at  Tolga.  But  I  had  no  trouble 
with  Major  Duprez  when  I  told  him  how  friends  of  mine 
were  attacked  by  Arab  robbers,  and  how  I  had  got  the 
message." 

"  So  that's  what  you  told  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  didn't  want  a  scandal  in  the  Zaoui'a,  for  her  sake. 


504  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

Nobody  knows  that  the  marabout  is  for  anything  in  this 
business.  But,  of  course,  if  you've  killed  him " 

"  We  haven't.  He's  got  clear  away.  Unless  your  men  have 
nabbed  him  and  his  friend  Maieddine." 

"  Not  we.  I'm  not  sure  I  cared  to  —  unless  we  could  kill 
him.  But  we  did  honestly  try  —  to  do  both.  There  were 
six  we  chased " 

"  Only  six.  Then  we  must  have  polished  off  more  than  we 
thought." 

"We  can  find  out  later  how  many.  But  the  last  six  didn't 
get  off  without  a  scratch,  I  assure  you.  They  must  have  had  a 
sentinel  watching.  We  saw  no  one,  but  as  we  were  hoping  to 
surprise  the  bordj  these  six  men,  who  looked  from  a  distance 
like  Touaregs,  rushed  out,  mounted  horses  and  camels  and 
dashed  away,  striking  westward." 

"They  dared  not  go  north.     I'd  been  signalling " 

"From  the  broken  tower?" 

"Yes.  As  you  came,  you  must  have  sighted  the  men  from 
Azzouz.  But  tell  me  the  rest." 

"There's  little  to  tell,  and  I  want  your  news  more  than  you  can 
want  mine.  The  Arabs'  animals  were  fresh,  and  ours  tired, 
for  I'd  given  them  no  rest.  The  brutes  had  a  good  start  of 
us  and  made  the  best  of  it,  but  at  first  I  thought  we  were  gain- 
ing. We  got  within  gunshot,  and  fired  after  them.  Two  at 
least  were  hit.  We  came  on  traces  of  fresh  blood  afterward, 
but  the  birds  themselves  were  flown.  In  any  case,  it  was  to 
bring  help  I  came,  not  to  make  captures.  Do  you  think  she 
would  like  me  to  see  her  now  ?  " 

"  Come  with  me  and  try,  before  the  other  rescue  party  arrives. 
I'm  glad  the  surgeon's  with  you.  I'm  worried  about  Caird, 
and  we're  all  a  bit  dilapidated.  How  we're  to  get  him  and 
the  ladies  away  from  this  place,  I  don't  know.  Our  animals 
are  dead  or  dying." 

"You  will  probably  find  that  the  enemy  has  been  generous 
vn  spite  of  himself  and  left  you  some  —  all  that  couldn't  be  taken 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  505 

away.  Strange  how  those  men  looked  like  Touaregs!  You 
are  sure  of  what  they  really  were  ?  " 

"  Sure.  But  since  no  one  else  knows,  why  should  the  secret 
leak  out  ?  Better  for  the  ladies  if  the  Touareg  disguise  should 
hide  the  truth,  as  it  was  meant  to  do." 

"  Why  not  indeed  ?  Since  we  weren't  lucky  enough  to  rid 
his  wife  —  and  the  world  of  the  marabout." 

"Then  we're  agreed:  unless  something  happens  to  change 
our  minds,  we  were  attacked  by  Touaregs." 

Sabine  smiled  grimly.  "Duprez  bet,"  he  answered,  "that 
I  should  find  they  were  not  Arabs,  but  Touaregs.  He  will 
enjoy  saying  'I  told  you  so.' " 


That  night,  and  for  many  nights  to  come,  there  was  wailing 
in  the  Zaoula.  The  marabout  had  gone  out  to  meet  his  son, 
who  had  been  away  from  school  on  a  pilgrimage,  and  returning 
at  dark,  to  avoid  the  great  heat  of  the  day,  had  been  bitten  by  a 
viper.  Thus,  at  least,  pronounced  the  learned  Arab  physician. 
It  was  of  the  viper  bite  he  died,  so  it  was  said,  and  no  one 
outside  the  Zaoui'a  knew  of  the  great  man's  death  until  days 
afterwards,  when  he  was  already  buried.  Even  in  the  Zaoula  it 
was  not  known  by  many  that  he  had  gone  away  or  returned 
from  a  journey,  or  that  he  lay  ill.  In  spite  of  this  secrecy  and 
mystery,  however,  there  was  no  gossip,  but  only  wild  wailing, 
of  mourners  who  refused  to  be  comforted.  And  if  certain 
persons,  to  the  number  of  twenty  or  more,  were  missing  from 
their  places  in  the  Zaou'ia,  nothing  was  said,  after  Si  Maleddine 
had  talked  with  the  holy  men  of  the  mosque.  If  these  missing 
ones  were  away,  and  even  if  they  should  never  come  back, 
it  was  because  they  were  needed  to  carry  out  the  marabout's 
wishes,  at  a  vast  distance.  But  now,  the  dearest  wishes  of 
Sidi  Mohammed  would  never  be  fulfilled.  That  poignant 
knowledge  was  a  knife  in  every  man's  heart,  for  men  of 


506  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ripe  age  or  wisdom  in  the  Zaouia  knew  what  these  wishes  were, 
and  how  some  day  they  were  to  have  come  true  through  blood 
and  fire. 

All  were  sad,  though  no  tongue  spoke  of  any  other  reason 
for  sadness,  except  the  inestimable  loss  of  the  Saint.  And 
sadder  than  the  saddest  was  Si  Maieddine,  who  seemed  to 
have  lost  his  youth. 


LII 


IT  IS  a  long  cry  from  the  bord  j  of  Toud  ja  among  the  dunes 
of  the  southern  desert,  to  Algiers,  yet  Nevill  begged  that 
he  might  be  taken  home.  "You  know  why,"  he  said  to 
Stephen,  and  his  eyes  explained,  if  Stephen  needed  ex- 
planations. Nevill  thought  there  might  be  some  chance  of 
seeing  Josette  in  Algiers,  if  he  were  dying.  But  the  army  sur- 
geon from  Oued  Tolga  pronounced  it  unsafe  to  take  him  so  far. 

Yet  away  from  Toudja  he  must  go,  since  it  was  impossible 
to  care  for  him  properly  there,  and  the  bullet  which  had 
wounded  him  was  still  in  his  side. 

Fortunately  the  enemy  had  left  plenty  of  camels.  They  had 
untethered  all,  hoping  that  the  animals  might  wander  away, 
too  far  to  be  caught  by  the  Europeans,  but  more  than  were 
needed  remained  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Toudja,  and  Rostafel 
took  possession  of  half  a  dozen  good  meharis,  which  would  help 
recoup  him  for  his  losses  in  the  bordj.  Not  one  animal  had 
any  mark  upon  it  which  could  identify  the  attackers,  and  sad- 
dles and  accoutrements  were  of  Touareg  make.  The  dead 
men,  too,  were  impossible  to  identify,  and  it  was  not  likely  that 
much  trouble  would  be  taken  in  prosecuting  inquiries.  Among 
those  whose  duty  it  is  to  govern  Algeria,  there  is  a  proverb  which, 
for  various  good  reasons,  has  come  to  be  much  esteemed :  "  Let 
sleeping  dogs  lie." 

Not  a  man  of  the  five  who  defended  the  bordj  but  had  at 
least  one  wound  to  show  for  his  night's  work.  Always,  how- 
ever, it  is  those  who  attack,  in  a  short  siege,  who  suffer  most; 
and  the  Europeans  were  not  proud  of  the  many  corpses  they 
had  to  their  credit.  There  was  some  patching  for  the  surgeon 

507 


508  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

to  do  for  all,  but  Nevill's  was  the  only  serious  case.  The 
French  doctor,  De  Vigne,  did  not  try  to  hide  the  truth  from 
the  wounded  man's  friend ;  there  was  danger.  The  best  thing 
would  have  been  to  get  Nevill  to  Algiers,  but  since  that  was 
impossible,  he  must  travel  in  a  bassour,  by  easy  stages,  to 
Touggourt.  Instead  of  two  days'  journey  they  must  make  it 
three,  or  more  if  necessary,  and  he  —  De  Vigne  —  would  go 
with  them  to  put  his  patient  into  the  hands  of  the  army  surgeon 
at  Touggourt. 

They  had  only  the  one  bassour;  that  in  which  Saidee  and 
Victoria  had  come  to  Toudja  from  Oued  Tolga,  but  Nevill 
was  delirious  more  often  than  not,  and  had  no  idea  that  a 
sacrifice  was  being  made  for  him.  Blankets,  and  two  of  the 
mattresses  least  damaged  by  fire  in  the  barricade,  were  fastened 
on  to  camels  for  the  ladies,  after  the  fashion  in  use  for  Be- 
douin women  of  the  poorest  class,  or  Ouled  Nails  who  have 
not  yet  made  their  fortune  as  dancers;  and  so  the  journey  began 
again. 

There  was  never  a  time  during  the  three  days  it  lasted,  for 
Stephen  to  confess  to  Victoria.  Possibly  she  did  not  wish  him 
to  take  advantage  of  a  situation  created  as  if  by  accident  at 
Toudja.  Or  perhaps  she  thought,  now  that  the  common 
danger  which  had  drawn  them  together,  was  over,  it  would  be 
best  to  wait  until  anxiety  for  Nevill  had  passed,  before  talking 
of  their  own  affairs. 

At  Azzouz,  where  they  passed  a  night  full  of  suffering  for 
Nevill,  they  had  news  of  the  marabout's  death.  It  came  by 
telegraph  to  the  operator,  just  before  the  party  was  ready  to 
start  on;  yet  Saidee  was  sure  that  Sabine  had  caused  it  to  be 
sent  just  at  that  time.  He  had  been  obliged  to  march  back 
with  his  men  —  the  penalty  of  commanding  the  force  for  which 
he  had  asked ;  but  a  letter  would  surely  come  to  Touggourt,  and 
Saidee  could  imagine  all  that  it  would  say.  She  had  no  regrets 
for  Ben  Halim,  and  said  frankly  to  Victoria  that  it  was  difficult 
not  to  be  indecently  glad  of  her  freedom.  At  last  she  had 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  509 

waked  up  from  a  black  dream  of  horror,  and  now  that  it  was 
over,  it  hardly  seemed  real.  "I  shall  forget,"  she  said.  "I 
shall  put  my  whole  soul  to  forgetting  everything  that's  happened 
to  me  in  the  last  ten  years,  and  every  one  I've  known  in  the 
south  —  except  one.  But  to  have  met  him  and  to  have  him 
love  me,  I'd  live  it  all  over  again  —  all." 

She  kept  Victoria  with  her  continually,  and  in  the  physical 
weakness  and  nervous  excitement  which  followed  the  strain 
she  had  gone  through,  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  interest 
in  Victoria's  affairs.  She  did  not  know  that  her  sister  and 
Stephen  had  talked  of  love,  for  at  Toudja  after  the  fight  began 
she  had  thought  of  nothing  but  the  danger  they  shared. 

Altogether,  everything  combined  to  delay  explanations  be- 
tween Stephen  and  Victoria.  He  tried  to  regret  this,  yet  could 
not  be  as  sorry  as  he  was  repentant.  It  was  not  quite  heaven, 
but  it  was  almost  paradise  to  have  her  near  him,  though  they 
had  a  chance  for  only  a  few  words  occasionally,  within  earshot 
of  Saidee,  or  De  Vigne,  or  the  twins,  who  watched  over  Nevill 
like  two  well-trained  nurses.  She  loved  him,  since  a  word  from 
her  meant  more  than  vows  from  other  women.  Nothing  had 
happened  yet  to  disturb  her  love,  so  these  few  days  belonged 
to  Stephen.  He  could  not  feel  that  he  had  stolen  them.  At 
Touggourt  he  would  find  a  time  and  place  to  speak,  and  then 
it  would  be  over  forever.  But  one  joy  he  had,  which  never 
could  have  come  to  him,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  peril  at  Toud- 
ja. They  knew  each  other's  hearts.  Nothing  could  change 
that.  One  day,  no  doubt,  she  would  learn  to  care  for  some  other 
man,  bnt  perhaps  never  quite  in  the  same  way  she  had  cared 
for  him,  because  Stephen  was  sure  that  this  was  her  first  love. 
And  though  she  might  be  happy  in  another  love  —  he  tried 
to  hope  it,  but  did  not  succeed  sincerely  —  he  would  always 
have  it  to  remember,  until  the  day  of  his  death,  that  once  she 
had  loved  him. 

As  far  out  from  Touggourt  as  Temacin,  Lady  MacGregor 
came  to  meet  them,  in  a  ramshackle  carriage,  filled  with  rugs 


510  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

and  pillows  in  case  Nevill  wished  to  change.  But  he  was  not  in 
a  state  to  wish  for  anything,  and  De  Vigne  decided  for  him. 
He  was  to  go  on  in  the  bassour,  to  the  villa  which  had  been  let 
to  Lady  MacGregor  by  an  officer  of  the  garrison.  It  was  there 
the  little  Mohammed  was  to  have  been  kept  and  guarded  by 
the  Highlanders,  if  the  great  scheme  had  not  been  suddenly 
changed  in  some  of  its  details.  Now,  the  child  had  inherited 
his  father's  high  place.  Already  the  news  had  reached  the 
marabout  of  Temacin,  and  flashed  on  to  Touggourt.  But  no 
one  suspected  that  the  viper  which  had  bitten  the  Saint  had 
taken  the  form  of  a  French  bullet.  Perhaps,  had  all  been 
known  to  the  Government,  it  would  have  seemed  poetical 
justice  that  the  arch  plotter  had  met  his  death  thus.  But  his 
plots  had  died  with  him;  and  if  Islam  mourned  because  the 
Moul  Saa  they  hoped  for  had  been  snatched  from  them,  they 
mourned  in  secret.  For  above  other  sects  and  nations,  Islam 
knows  how  to  be  silent. 

When  they  were  settled  in  the  villa  near  the  oasis  (Saidee 
and  Victoria  too,  for  they  needed  no  urging  to  wait  till  it  was 
known  whether  Nevill  Caird  would  live  or  die)  Lady  Mac- 
Gregor said  with  her  usual  briskness  to  Stephen:  "Of  course 
I've  telegraphed  to  that  creature." 

Stephen  looked  at  her  blankly. 

"That  hard-hearted  little  beast,  Josette  Soubise,"  the  fairy 
aunt  explained. 

Stephen  could  hardly  help  laughing,  though  he  had  seldom 
felt  less  merry.  But  that  the  tiny  Lady  MacGregor  should 
refer  to  tall  Josette,  who  was  nearly  twice  her  height,  as  a 
"little  beast,"  struck  him  as  somewhat  funny.  Besides,  her 
toy-terrier  snappishness  was  comic. 

"I've  nothing  against  the  girl,"  Lady  MacGregor  felt  it 
right  to  go  on,  "  except  that  she's  an  idiot  to  bite  off  her  nose 
to  spite  her  own  face  —  and  Nevill's  too.  I  don't  approve  of 
her  at  all  as  a  wife  for  him,  you  must  understand.  Nevill  could 
marry  a  princess,  and  she's  nothing  but  a  little  school-teacher 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  511 

with  a  dimple  or  two,  whose  mother  and  father  were  less  than 
nobody.  Still,  as  Nevill  wants  her,  she  might  have  the  grace 
to  show  appreciation  of  the  honour,  by  not  spoiling  his  life. 
He's  never  been  the  same  since  he  went  and  fell  in  love  with  her, 
and  she  refused  him." 

"  You've  telegraphed  to  Tlemcen  that  Nevill  is  ill  ?  "  Stephen 
ventured. 

"I've  telegraphed  to  the  creature  that  she'd  better  come 
here  at  once,  if  she  wants  to  see  him  alive,"  replied  Lady  Mac- 
Gregor.  "I  suppose  she  loves  him  in  her  French- Algerian 
way,  and  she  must  have  saved  up  enough  money  for  the  fare. 
Anyhow,  if  Nevill  doesn't  live,  I  happen  to  know  he's  left  her 
nearly  everything,  except  what  the  poor  boy  imagines  I  ought 
to  have.  That's  pouring  coals  of  fire  on  her  head!" 

" Don't  think  of  his  not  living!"  exclaimed  Stephen. 

"Honestly  I  believe  he  won't  live  unless  that  idiot  of  a  girl 
comes  and  purrs  and  promises  to  marry  him,  deathbed  or  no 
deathbed." 

Again  Stephen  smiled  faintly.  "You're  a  matchmaker, 
Lady  MacGregor,"  he  said.  "You  are  one  of  the  most  subtle 
persons  I  ever  saw." 

The  old  lady  took  this  as  a  compliment.  "I  haven't  lived 
among  Arabs,  goodness  knows  how  many  years,  for  nothing," 
she  retorted.  "  I  telegraphed  for  her  about  five  minutes  after 
you  wired  from  Azzouz.  In  fact,  my  telegram  went  back  by 
the  boy  who  brought  yours." 

"She  may  be  here  day  after  to-morrow,  if  she  started  at 
once,"  Stephen  reflected  aloud. 

"  She  did,  and  she  will,"  said  Lady  MacGregor,  drily. 

"You've  heard?" 

"The  day  I  wired." 

"You  have  quite  a  nice  way  of  breaking  things  to  people, 
you  dear  little  ladyship,"  said  Stephen.  And  for  some  reason 
which  he  could  not  in  the  least  understand,  this  speech  caused 
Nevill's  aunt  to  break  into  tears. 


512  THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

That  evening,  the  two  surgeons  extracted  the  bullet  from 
Nevill's  side.  Afterwards,  he  was  extremely  weak,  and  took 
as  little  interest  as  possible  in  things,  until  Stephen  was  allowed 
to  speak  to  him  for  a  moment. 

Most  men,  if  told  that  they  had  just  sixty  seconds  to  spend 
at  the  bedside  of  a  dear  friend,  would  have  been  at  a  loss  what 
to  say  in  a  space  of  time  so  small  yet  valuable.  But  Stephen 
knew  what  he  wished  to  say,  and  said  it,  as  soon  as  Nevill  let 
him  speak;  but  Nevill  began  first. 

"  Maybe  —  going  to  —  deserve  name  of  Wings,"  he  mut- 
tered. "Shouldn't  wonder.  Don't  care  much." 

"  Is  there  any  one  thing  in  this  world  you  want  above  every- 
thing else  ?  "  asked  Stephen. 

"Yes.     Sight  of  —  Josette.     One  thing  I  —  can't  have." 

"Yes,  you  can,"  said  Stephen  quietly.  "She's  coming. 
She  started  the  minute  she  heard  you  were  ill,  and  she'll  be  in 
Touggourt  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  You're  not  —  pulling  my  leg  ?  " 

"To  do  that  would  be  very  injurious.  But  I  thought  good 
news  would  be  better  than  medicine." 

"Thank  you,  Legs.  You're  a  great  doctor,"  was  all  that 
Nevill  answered.  But  his  temperature  began  to  go  down 
within  the  hour. 

"He'll  get  the  girl,  of  course,"  remarked  Lady  MacGregor, 
when  Stephen  told  her.  "That  is,  if  he  lives." 

"  He  will  live,  with  this  hope  to  buoy  him  up,"  said  Stephen. 
"And  she  can't  hold  out  against  him  for  a  minute  when  she 
sees  him  as  he  is.  Indeed,  I  rather  fancy  she's  been  in  a  mood 
to  change  her  mind  this  last  month." 

"Why  this  last  month?" 

"Oh,  I  think  she  misunderstood  Nevill's  interest  in  Miss 
Ray,  and  that  helped  her  to  understand  herself.  When  she 
finds  out  that  it's  for  her  he  still  cares,  not  some  one  else,  she'll 
do  anything  he  asks."  Afterwards  it  proved  that  he  was  right. 

The  day  after  the  arrival  at  Touggourt,  the  house  in  its 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  513 

garden  near  the  oasis  was  very  quiet.  The  Arab  servants, 
whom  Lady  MacGregor  had  taken  with  the  place,  moved 
silently,  and  for  Nevill's  sake  voices  were  lowered.  There  was 
a  brooding  stillness  of  summer  heat  over  the  one  little  patch  of 
flowery  peace  and  perfumed  shade  in  the  midst  of  the  fierce 
golden  desert.  Yet  to  the  five  members  of  the  oddly  assembled 
family  it  was  as  if  the  atmosphere  tingled  with  electricity. 
There  was  a  curious,  even  oppressive  sense  of  suspense,  of 
waiting  for  something  to  happen. 

They  did  not  speak  of  this  feeling,  yet  they  could  see  it  in 
each  other's  eyes,  if  they  dare  to  look. 

It  was  with  them  as  with  people  who  wait  to  hear  a  clock 
begin  striking  an  hour  which  will  bring  news  of  some  great 
change  in  their  lives,  for  good  or  evil. 

The  tension  increased  as  the  day  went  on ;  still,  no  one  had  said 
to  another,  "  What  is  there  so  strange  about  to-day  ?  Do  you 
feel  it  ?  Is  it  only  our  imagination  —  a  reaction  after  strain,  or 
is  it  that  a  presentiment  of  something  to  happen  hangs  over  us?  " 

Stephen  had  not  yet  had  any  talk  with  Victoria.  They  had 
seen  each  other  alone  for  scarcely  more  than  a  moment  since 
the  night  at  Toudja;  but  now  that  Nevill  was  better,  and  the 
surgeons  said  that  if  all  went  well,  danger  was  past,  it  seemed 
to  Stephen  that  the  hour  had  come. 

After  they  had  lunched  in  the  dim,  cool  dining-room,  and 
Lady  MacGregor  had  proposed  a  siesta  for  all  sensible  people, 
Stephen  stopped  the  girl  on  her  way  upstairs  as  she  followed  her 
sister. 

"  May  I  talk  to  you  for  a  little  while  this  afternoon  ? "  he 
asked. 

Voice  and  eyes  were  wistful,  and  Victoria  wondered  why, 
because  she  was  so  happy  that  she  felt  as  if  life  had  been  set  to 
music.  She  had  hoped  that  he  would  be  happy  too,  when 
Nevill's  danger  was  over,  and  he  had  time  to  think  of  himself  — 
perhaps,  too,  of  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "let's  talk  in  the  garden,  when  it's  cooler. 


514  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

I  love  being  in  gardens,  don't  you  ?  Everything  that  happens 
seems  more  beautiful." 

Stephen  remembered  how  lovely  he  had  thought  her  in  the 
lily  garden  at  Algiers.  He  was  almost  glad  that  they  were  not 
to  have  this  talk  there;  for  the  memory  of  it  was  too  perfect 
to  mar  with  sadness. 

"  I'm  going  to  put  Saidee  to  sleep,"  she  went  on.  "  You  may 
laugh,  but  truly  I  can.  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  she  used  to  like 
me  to  stroke  her  hair  if  her  head  ached,  and  she  would  always 
fall  asleep.  And  once  she's  asleep  I  shan't  dare  move,  or 
she'll  wake  up.  She  has  such  happy  dreams  now,  and  they're 
sure  to  come  true.  Shall  I  come  to  you  about  half -past  five  ? " 

"I'll  be  waiting,"  said  Stephen. 

It  was  the  usual  garden  of  a  villa  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a 
desert  town,  but  Stephen  had  never  seen  one  like  it,  except  that 
of  the  Caid,  in  Bou-Saada.  There  were  the  rounded  paths  of 
hard  sand,  the  colour  of  pinkish  gold  in  the  dappling  shadows 
of  date  palms  and  magnolias,  and  there  were  rills  of  running 
water  that  whispered  and  gurgled  as  they  bathed  the  dark  roots 
of  the  trees.  No  grass  grew  in  the  garden,  and  the  flowers  were 
not  planted  in  beds  or  borders.  Plants  and  trees  sprang  out  of 
the  sand,  and  such  flowers  as  there  were  —  roses,  and  pome- 
granate blossoms,  hibiscus,  and  passion  flowers  —  climbed,  and 
rambled,  and  pushed,  and  hung  in  heavy  drapery,  as  best  they 
could  without  attention  or  guidance.  But  one  of  the  principal 
paths  led  to  a  kind  of  arbour,  or  temple,  where  long  ago  palms 
had  been  planted  in  a  ring,  and  had  formed  a  high  green  dome, 
through  which,  even  at  noon,  the  light  filtered  as  if  through  a 
dome  of  emerald.  Underneath,  the  pavement  of  gold  was 
hard  and  smooth,  and  in  the  centre  whispered  a  tiny  fountain 
ornamented  with  old  Algerian  tiles.  It  trickled  rather  than 
played,  but  its  delicate  music  was  soothing  and  sweet  as  a 
murmured  lullaby;  and  from  the  shaded  seat  beside  it  there 
was  a  glimpse  between  tree  trunks  of  the  burning  desert  gold. 

On  this  wooden  seat  by  the  fountain  Stephen  waited  for 


THE    GOLDEN   SILENCE  515 

Victoria,  and  saw  her  coming  to  him,  along  the  straight  path 
that  led  to  the  round  point.  She  wore  a  white  dress  which 
Lady  MacGregor  had  brought  her,  and  as  she  walked,  the  em- 
broidery of  light  and  shadow  made  it  look  like  lace  of  a  lovely 
pattern.  She  stopped  on  the  way,  and,  gathering  a  red  rose 
with  a  long  stem,  slipped  it  into  her  belt.  It  looked  like  a  spot 
of  blood  over  her  heart,  as  if  a  sword  had  been  driven  in  and 
drawn  out.  Stephen  could  not  bear  to  see  it  there.  It  was 
like  a  symbol  of  the  wound  that  he  was  waiting  to  inflict. 

She  came  to  him  smiling,  looking  very  young,  like  a  child 
who  expects  happiness. 

"Have  I  kept  you  waiting  long?"  she  asked.  Her  blue  eyes, 
with  the  shadow  of  the  trees  darkening  them,  had  a  wonderful 
colour,  almost  purple.  A  desperate  longing  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  swept  over  Stephen  like  a  wave.  He  drew  in  his  breath 
sharply  and  shut  his  teeth.  He  could  not  answer.  Hardly 
knowing  what  he  did,  he  held  out  his  hands,  and  very  quietly 
and  sweetly  she  laid  hers  in  them. 

"Don't  trust  me  —  don't  be  kind  to  me,"  he  said,  crushing 
her  hands  for  an  instant,  then  putting  them  away. 

She  looked  up  in  surprise,  as  he  stood  by  the  fountain,  very 
tall  and  pale,  and  suddenly  rather  grim,  it  seemed  to  her,  his 
expression  out  of  tune  with  the  peace  of  the  garden  and  the 
mood  in  which  she  had  come. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  simply. 

"Everything.  I  hardly  know  how  to  begin  to  tell  you.  Yet 
I  must.  Perhaps  you'll  think  I  shouldn't  have  waited  till  now. 
But  there's  been  no  chance  —  at  least,  I  - 

"No,  there's  been  no  chance  for  us  to  talk,  or  even  to  think 
very  much  about  ourselves,"  Victoria  tried  to  reassure  him. 
"Begin  just  as  you  like.  Whatever  you  say,  whatever  you 
have  to  tell,  I  won't  misunderstand." 

"First  of  all,  then,"  Stephen  said,  "you  know  I  love  you. 
Only  you  don't  know  how  much.  I  couldn't  tell  you  that,  any 
more  than  I  could  tell  how  much  water  there  is  in  the  ocean. 


516  THE    GOLDEN    SILENCE 

I  didn't  know  myself  that  it  was  possible  to  love  like  this,  and 
such  a  love  might  turn  the  world  into  heaven.  But  because  I 
am  what  I  am,  and  because  I've  done  what  I  have  done,  it's 
making  mine  hell.  Wait  —  you  said  you  wouldn't  misunder- 
stand! The  man  who  loves  you  ought  to  offer  some  sort  of 
spiritual  gold  and  diamonds,  but  I've  got  only  a  life  half  spoiled 
to  offer  you,  if  you'll  take  it.  And  before  I  can  even  ask  you 
to  take  it,  I'll  have  to  explain  how  it's  spoiled." 

Victoria  did  not  speak,  but  still  looked  at  him  with  that 
look  of  an  expectant,  anxious  child,  which  made  him  long  to 
snatch  her  up  and  turn  his  back  forever  on  the  world  where  there 
was  a  Margot  Lorenzi,  and  gossiping  people,  and  newspapers. 

But  he  had  to  go  on.  "There's  a  woman,"  he  said,  "who  — 
perhaps  she  cares  for  me  —  I  don't  know.  Anyhow,  she'd 
suffered  through  our  family.  I  felt  sorry  for  her.  I  —  I  sup- 
pose I  admired  her.  She's  handsome  —  or  people  think  so. 
I  can  hardly  tell  how  it  came  about,  but  I  —  asked  her  to  marry 
me,  and  she  said  yes.  That  was  —  late  last  winter  —  or  the 
beginning  of  spring.  Then  she  had  to  go  to  Canada,  where 
she'd  been  brought  up  —  her  father  died  in  England,  a  few 
months  ago,  and  her  mother,  when  she  was  a  child;  but  she 
had  friends  she  wanted  to  see,  before  —  before  she  married. 
So  she  went,  and  I  came  to  Algiers,  to  visit  Nevill.  Good 
heavens,  how  banal  it  sounds !  How  —  how  different  from  the 
way  I  feel !  There  aren't  words  —  I  don't  see  how  to  make 
you  understand,  without  being  a  cad.  But  I  must  tell  you  that 
I  didn't  love  her,  even  at  first.  It  was  a  wish  —  a  foolish, 
mistaken  wish,  I  see  now  —  and  I  saw  long  ago,  the  moment  it 
was  too  late  —  to  make  up  for  things.  She  was  unhappy,  and 
—  no,  I  give  it  up !  I  can't  explain.  But  it  doesn't  change 
things  between  us  —  you  and  me.  I'm  yours,  body  and  soul. 
If  you  can  forgive  me  for  —  for  trying  to  make  you  care,  when 
I  had  no  right  —  if,  after  knowing  the  truth,  you'll  take  me 
as  I  am,  I " 

"Do  you  mean,  you'd  break  off  your  engagement?" 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  517 

Perhaps  it  was  partly  the  effect  of  the  green  shadows,  but 
the  girl  loosed  very  pale.  Except  for  her  eyes  and  hair,  and  the 
red  rose  that  was  like  a  wound  over  her  heart,  there  was  no 
colour  about  her. 

"  Yes,  I  would.  And  I  believe  it  would  be  right  to  break  it," 
Stephen  said,  forcefully.  "It's  abominable  to  marry  some  one 
you  don't  love,  and  a  crime  if  you  love  some  one  else." 

"  But  you  must  have  cared  for  her  once,"  said  Victoria. 

"  Oh,  cared !  I  cared  in  a  way,  as  a  man  cares  for  a  pretty 
woman  who's  had  very  hard  luck.  You  see  —  her  father 
made  a  fight  for  a  title  that's  in  our  family,  and  claimed  the 
right  to  it.  He  lost  his  case,  and  his  money  was  spent.  Then 
he  killed  himself,  and  his  daughter  was  left  alone,  without  a 
penny  and  hardly  any  friends " 

"  Poor,  poor  girl !  I  don't  wonder  you  were  sorry  for  her  — 
so  sorry  that  you  thought  your  pity  was  love.  You  couldn't 
throw  her  over  now,  you  know  in  your  heart  you  couldn't.  It 
would  be  cruel." 

"I  thought  I  couldn't,  till  I  met  you,"  Stephen  answered 
frankly.  "  Since  then,  I've  thought  —  no,  I  haven'txexactly 
thought.  I've  only  felt.  That  night  at  Toudja,  I  knew  it 
would  be  worse  than  death  to  have  to  keep  my  word  to  her.  I 
wouldn't  have  been  sorry  if  they'd  killed  me  then,  after  you 
said  —  that  is,  after  I  had  the  memory  of  a  moment  or  two  of 
happiness  to  take  to  the  next  world." 

"Ah,  that's  because  I  let  you  see  I  loved  you,"  Victoria  ex- 
plained softly,  and  a  little  shyly.  "  I  told  you  I  wouldn't  mis- 
understand, and  I  don't.  Just  for  a  minute  I  was  hurt  —  my 
heart  felt  sick,  because  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  —  to  think  less 
highly  of  you.  But  it  was  only  for  a  minute.  Then  I  began  to 
understand  —  so  well!  And  I  think  you  are  even  better  than 
I  thought  before  —  more  generous,  and  chivalrous.  You  were 
sorry  for  her  in  those  days  of  her  trouble,  and  then  you  were 
engaged,  and  you  meant  to  marry  her  and  make  her  happy. 
But  at  Toudja  I  showed  you  what  was  in  my  heart  —  even  now 


518  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

I'm  not  ashamed  that  I  did,  because  I  knew  you  cared  for 
me." 

"  I  worshipped  you,  only  less  than  I  do  now,"  Stephen  broke 
in.  "  Every  day  I  love  you  more  —  and  will  to  the  end  of  my 
life.  You  can't  send  me  away.  You  can't  send  me  to  another 
woman." 

"I  can,  for  my  sake  and  yours  both,  because  if  I  kept  you, 
feeling  that  I  was  wronging  some  one,  neither  of  us  could  be 
happy.  But  I  want  you  to  know  I  understand  that  you  have 
me  to  be  sorry  for  now,  as  well  as  her,  and  that  you're  torn  be- 
tween us  both,  hardly  seeing  which  way  honour  lies.  I'm  sure 
you  would  have  kept  true  to  her,  if  you  hadn't  hated  to  make 
me  unhappy.  And  instead  of  needing  to  forgive  you,  I  will  ask 
you  to  forgive  me,  for  making  things  harder." 

"  You've  given  me  the  only  real  happiness  I've  ever  known 
since  I  was  a  boy,"  Stephen  said. 

"  If  that's  true  —  and  it  must  be,  since  you  say  it  —  neither 
of  us  is  to  be  pitied.  I  shall  be  happy  always  because  you  loved 
me  enough  to  be  made  happy  by  my  love.  And  you  must  be 
happy  because  you've  done  right,  and  made  me  love  you  more. 
I  don't  think  there'll  be  any  harm  in  our  not  trying  to  forget, 
do  you?" 

"I  could  as  easily  forget  to  breathe." 

"  So  could  I.  Ever  since  the  first  night  I  met  you,  you  have 
seemed  different  to  me  from  any  other  man  I  ever  knew,  except 
an  ideal  man  who  used  to  live  in  the  back  of  my  mind.  Soon, 
that  man  and  you  grew  to  be  one.  You  wouldn't  have  me 
separate  you  from  him,  would  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  that  you'll  separate  me  from  your  ideal  unless 
I  marry  Margot  Lorenzi,  then  divide  me  from  that  cold  per- 
fection forever.  I'm  not  cold,  and  I'm  far  from  perfect.  But 
I  can't  feel  it  a  decent  thing  for  a  man  to  marry  one  woman, 
promising  to  love  and  cherish  her,  if  his  whole  being  belongs 
to  another.  Even  you  can't " 

"I  used  to  believe  it  wrong  to  marry  a  person  one  didn't 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  519 

love,"  Victoria  broke  in,  quickly.  "  But  it's  so  different  when 
one  talks  of  an  imaginary  case.  This  poor  girl  loves  you  ?  " 

"I  suppose  she  thinks  she  does." 

"She's  poor?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  she  depends  upon  you." 

"Of  course  she  counts  on  me.  I  always  expected  to  keep 
my  word." 

"And  now  you'd  break  it  —  for  me!  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  let 
you  do  it.  Were  you  —  does  she  expect  to  be  married 
soon  ?  " 

Stephen's  face  grew  red,  as  if  it  had  been  struck.  "Yes." 
he  answered,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Would  you  mind  —  telling  me  how  soon  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  she  gets  back  from  Canada." 

Victoria's  bosom  rose  and  fell  quickly. 

"Oh!  — and  when  - 

"  At  once.     Almost  at  once." 

"She's  coming  back  immediately?" 

"Yes.     I  —  I'm  afraid  she's  in  England  now." 

"  How  dreadful !  Poor  girl,  hoping  to  see  you  —  to  have 
you  meet  her,  maybe,  and  —  you're  here.  You're  planning 
to  break  her  heart.  It  breaks  mine  to  think  of  it.  I  couldn't 
have  you  fail." 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  send  me  away  from  you.  I  can't  go. 
I  won't." 

"Yes,  if  I  beg  you  to  go.  And  I  do.  You  must  stand  by 
this  poor  girl,  alone  in  the  world  except  for  you.  I  see  from 
what  you  tell  me,  that  she  needs  you  and  appeals  to  your  chivalry 
by  lacking  everything  except  what  comes  from  you.  It  can't 
be  wrong  to  protect  her,  after  giving  your  promise,  even  though 
you  mayn't  love  her  in  the  way  you  once  thought  you  did :  but 
it  would  be  wrong  to  abandon  her  now " 

A  rustling  in  the  long  path  made  Stephen  turn.  Some  one 
was  coming.  It  was  Margot  Lorenzi. 


520  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

He  could  not  believe  that  it  was  really  she,  and  stared  stupidly, 
thinking  the  figure  he  saw  an  optical  illusion. 

She  had  on  a  grey  travelling  dress,  and  a  grey  hat  trimmed 
with  black  ribbon,  which,  Stephen  noted  idly,  was  powdered 
with  dust.  Her  black  hair  was  dusty,  too,  and  her  face  slightly 
flushed  with  heat,  nevertheless  she  was  beautiful,  with  the 
luscious  beauty  of  those  women  who  make  a  strong  physical 
appeal  to  men. 

Behind  her  was  an  Arab  servant,  whom  she  had  passed  in 
her  eagerness.  He  looked  somewhat  troubled,  but  seeing 
Stephen  he  threw  up  his  hands  in  apology,  throwing  off  all 
responsibility.  Then  he  turned  and  went  back  towards  the 
house. 

Margot,  too,  had  seen  Stephen.  Her  eyes  flashed  from  him 
to  the  figure  of  the  girl,  which  she  saw  in  profile.  She  did  not 
speak,  but  walked  faster;  and  Victoria,  realizing  that  their  talk 
was  to  be  interrupted  by  somebody,  looked  round,  expecting 
Lady  MacGregor  or  Saidee. 

"  It  is  Miss  Lorenzi,"  Stephen  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  don't 
know  how  —  or  why  —  she  has  come  here.  But  for  your 
sake  —  it  will  be  better  if  you  go  now,  at  once,  and  let  me  talk 
to  her." 

There  was  another  path  by  which  Victoria  could  reach  the 
house.  She  might  have  gone,  thinking  that  Stephen  knew  best, 
and  that  she  had  no  more  right  than  wish  to  stay,  but  the  tall 
young  woman  in  grey  began  to  walk  very  fast,  when  she  saw 
that  the  girl  with  Stephen  was  going. 

"Be  kind  enough  to  stop  where  you  are,  Miss  Ray.  I 
know  you  must  be  Miss  Ray,"  Margot  called  out  in  a  loud, 
sharp  voice.  She  spoke  as  if  Victoria  were  an  inferior,  whom 
she  had  a  right  to  command. 

Surprised  and  hurt  by  the  tone,  the  girl  hesitated,  looking 
from  the  newcomer  to  Stephen. 

At  first  glance  and  at  a  little  distance,  she  had  thought 
the  young  woman  perfectly  beautiful,  perhaps  the  most  beau- 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  521 

tiful  creature  she  had  ever  seen  —  even  more  glorious  than 
Saidee.  But  when  Miss  Lorenzi  came  nearer,  undisguisedly 
angry  and  excited,  the  best  part  of  her  beauty  was  gone, 
wiped  away,  as  a  face  in  a  picture  may  be  smeared  before  the 
paint  is  dry.  Her  features  were  faultless,  her  hair  and  eyes 
magnificent.  Her  dress  was  pretty,  and  exquisitely  made, 
if  too  elaborate  for  desert  travelling;  her  figure  charming,  though 
some  day  it  would  be  too  stout;  yet  in  spite  of  all  she  looked 
common  and  cruel.  The  thought  that  Stephen  Knight  had 
doomed  himself  to  marry  this  woman  made  Victoria  shiver,  as 
if  she  had  heard  him  condemned  to  imprisonment  for  life. 

She  had  thought  before  seeing  Miss  Lorenzi  that  she  under- 
stood the  situation,  and  how  it  had  come  about.  She  had 
said  to  Stephen,  "I  understand."  Now,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  boasted  in  a  silly,  childish  way.  She  had  not 
understood.  She  had  not  begun  to  understand. 

Suddenly  the  girl  felt  very  old  and  experienced,  and  mis- 
erably wise  in  the  ways  of  the  world.  It  was  as  if  in  some 
other  incarnation  she  had  known  women  like  this,  and  their 
influence  over  men:  how,  if  they  tried,  they  could  beguile 
chivalrous  men  into  being  sorry  for  them,  and  doing  almost 
anything  which  they  wished  to  be  done. 

A  little  while  ago  Victoria  had  been  thinking  and  speaking 
of  Margot  Lorenzi  as  "poor  girl,"  and  urging  Stephen  to  be 
true  to  her  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  hers.  But  now,  in  a 
moment,  everything  had  changed.  A  strange  flash  of  soul- 
lightning  had  shown  her  the  real  Margot,  unworthy  of  Stephen 
at  her  best,  crushing  to  his  individuality  and  aspirations  at 
her  worst.  Victoria  did  not  know  what  to  think,  what  to  do. 
In  place  of  the  sad  and  lonely  girl  she  had  pictured,  here  stood 
a  woman  already  selfish  and  heartless,  who  might  become 
cruel  and  terrible.  No  one  had  ever  looked  at  Victoria  Ray 
as  Miss  Lorenzi  was  looking  now,  not  even  Miluda,  the  Ouled 
Nail,  who  had  stared  her  out  of  countenance,  curiously  and 
maliciously  at  the  same  time. 


522  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

"I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  Miss  Ray  in 
Algiers,"  Margot  went  on.  "And  I  think  —  you  will  both 
understand  why  I  made  this  long,  tiresome  journey  to 
Touggourt." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  Miss  Ray  should  understand," 
said  Stephen  quickly.  "It  can't  concern  her  in  the  least. 
On  your  own  account  it  would  have  been  better  if  you  had 
waited  for  me  in  London.  But  it's  too  late  to  think  of  that 
now.  I  will  go  with  you  into  the  house." 

"No,"  Margot  answered.  "Not  yet.  And  you're  not 
to  put  on  such  a  tone  with  me  —  as  if  I'd  done  something 
wrong.  I  haven't!  We're  engaged,  and  I  have  a  perfect 
right  to  come  here,  and  find  out  what  you've  been  doing  while 
I  was  at  the  other  side  of  the  world.  You  promised  to  meet 
me  at  Liverpool  —  and  instead,  you  were  here  —  with  her. 
You  never  even  sent  me  word.  Yet  you're  surprised  that  I 
came  on  to  Algiers.  Of  course,  when  I  was  there,  I  heard 
everything  —  or  what  I  didn't  hear,  I  guessed.  You  hadn't 
bothered  to  hide  your  tracks.  I  don't  suppose  you  so  much 
as  thought  of  me  —  poor  me,  who  went  to  Canada  for  your 
sake  really.  Yes!  I'll  tell  you  why  I  went  now.  I  was  afraid 
if  I  didn't  go,  a  man  who  was  in  love  with  me  there  —  he's 
in  love  with  me  now  and  always  will  be,  for  that  matter !  — 
would  come  and  kill  you.  He  used  to  threaten  that  he'd 
shoot  any  one  I  might  marry,  if  I  dared  throw  him  over;  and 
he's  the  kind  who  keeps  his  word.  So  I  didn't  want  to  throw 
him  over.  I  went  myself,  and  stayed  in  his  mother's  house, 
and  argued  and  pleaded  with  him,  till  he'd  promised  to  be 
good  and  let  me  be  happy.  So  you  see  —  the  journey  was 
for  you  —  to  save  you.  I  didn't  want  to  see  him  again  for 
myself,  though  his  is  real  love.  You're  cold  as  ice.  I  don't 
believe  you  know  what  love  is.  But  all  the  same  I  can't  be 
jilted  by  you  —  for  another  woman.  I  won't  have  it,  Stephen 
—  after  all  I've  gone  through.  If  you  try  to  break  your 
solemn  word  to  me,  I'll  sue  you.  There'll  be  another  case 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  523 

that  will  drag  your  name  before  the  public  again,  and  not 
only  yours ' ' 

"Be  still,  Margot,"  said  Stephen. 

She  grew  deadly  pale.  "I  will  not  be  still,"  she  panted. 
"I  will  have  justice.  No  one  shall  take  you  away  from  me." 

"No  one  wishes  to  take  me  away,"  Stephen  flung  at  her 
hotly.  "Miss  Ray  has  just  refused  me.  You've  spared  me 
the  trouble  of  taking  her  advice 

"What  was  it?"  Margot  looked  suddenly  anxious,  and  at 
the  same  time  self-assertive. 

"That  I  should  go  at  once  to  England  —  and  to  you." 

Victoria  took  a  step  forward,  then  paused,  pale  and  trem- 
bling. "Oh,  Stephen!"  she  cried.  "I  take  back  that  advice. 
I  —  I've  changed  my  mind.  You  can't  —  you  can't  do  it. 
You  would  be  so  miserable  that  she'd  be  wretched,  too.  I 
see  now,  it's  not  right  to  urge  people  to  do  things,  especially 
when  —  one  only  thinks  one  understands.  She  doesn't  love 
you  really.  I  feel  almost  sure  she  cares  more  for  some  one 
else,  if  —  if  it  were  not  for  things  you  have,  which  she  wants. 
If  you're  rich,  as  I  suppose  you  must  be,  don't  make  this  sac- 
rifice, which  would  crush  your  soul,  but  give  her  half  of  all  you 
have  in  the  world,  so  that  she  can  be  happy  in  her  own  way, 
and  set  you  free  gladly." 

As  Victoria  said  these  things,  she  remembered  M'Barka, 
and  the  prophecy  of  the  sand;  a  sudden  decision  to  be  made 
in  an  instant,  which  would  change  her  whole  life. 

"I'll  gladly  give  Miss  Lorenzi  more  than  half  my  money," 
said  Stephen.  "I  should  be  happy  to  think  she  had  it.  But 
even  if  you  begged  me  to  marry  her,  Victoria,  I  would  not 
now.  It's  gone  beyond  that.  Her  ways  and  mine  must  be 
separate  forever." 

Margot's  face  grew  eager,  and  her  eyes  flamed. 

"What  I  want  and  insist  on,"  she  said,  "is  that  I  must 
have  my  rights.  After  all  I've  hoped  for  and  expected,  I 
won't  be  thrown  over,  and  go  back  to  the  old,  dull  life  of  turn- 


524  THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE 

ing  and  twisting  every  shilling.  If  you'll  settle  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  on  me,  you  are  free,  so  far  as  I  care.  I  wouldn't 
marry  a  man  who  hated  me,  when  there's  one  who  adores  me 
as  if  I  were  a  saint  —  and  I  like  him  better  than  ever  I  did 
you  —  a  lot  better.  I  realize  that  more  than  I  did  before." 

The  suggestion  of  Margot  Lorenzi  as  a  saint  might  have 
made  a  looker-on  smile,  but  Victoria  and  Stephen  passed  it 
by,  scarcely  hearing. 

"If  I  give  you  thirty  thousand  pounds,  it  will  leave  me  a 
poor  man,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  do  give  her  the  money  and  be  a  poor  man,"  Victoria 
implored.  "  I  shall  be  so  happy  if  we  are  poor  —  a  thousand 
times  happier  than  she  could  be  with  millions." 

Stephen  caught  the  hand  that  half  unconsciously  the  girl 
held  out  to  him,  and  pressed  it  hard.  "If  you  will  go  back 
to  your  hotel  now,"  he  said  to  Margot,  in  a  quiet  voice,  "I 
will  call  on  you  there  almost  at  once,  and  we  can  settle  our 
business  affairs.  I  promise  that  you  shall  be  satisfied." 

Margot  looked  at  them  both  for  a  few  seconds,  without 
speaking.  "I'll  go,  and  send  a  telegram  to  Montreal 
which  will  make  somebody  there  happier  than  any  other 
man  in  Canada,"  she  answered.  "And  I'll  expect  you  in 
an  hour." 

When  she  had  gone,  they  forgot  her. 

"Do  you  really  mean,  when  you  say  we  —  we  shall  be  happy 
poor,  that  you'll  marry  me  in  spite  of  all  ?  "  Stephen  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  if  you  want  me  still,"  Victoria  said. 

"Does  a  man  want  Heaven!"  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
held  her  close,  closer  than  he  had  held  her  the  night  at  Toudja, 
when  he  had  thought  that  death  might  soon  part  them. 
"You've  brought  me  up  out  of  the  depths." 

"Not  I,"  the  girl  said.     "Your  star." 

"Your  star.     You  gave  me  half  yours." 

"Now  I  give  it  to  you  all,"  she  told  him.  "And  all  myself, 
too.  Oh,  isn't  it  wonderful  to  be  so  happy  —  in  the  light 


THE   GOLDEN  SILENCE  525 

of  our  star  —  and  to  know  that  the  others  we  love  will  be 
happy,  too  —  my  Saidee,  and  your  Mr.  Caird ' ' 

"Yes,"  Stephen  answered.  "But  just  at  this  moment  I 
can't  think  much  about  any  one  except  ourselves,  not  even 
your  sister  and  my  best  friend.  You  fill  the  universe  for  me." 

"It's  filled  with  love  —  and  it  is  love,"  said  Victoria.  "The 
music  is  sweeter  for  us,  though,  because  we  know  it's  sweet 
for  others.  I  couldn't  let  her  spoil  your  life,  Stephen." 

"My  life!"  he  echoed.  "I  didn't  know  what  life  was  or 
might  be  till  this  moment.  Now  I  know." 

"Now  we  both  know,"  she  finished. 


THE    END 


A     000118027    2 


